


Wayside Trials

by japangirlcmw



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst but it will stop at some point, BAMF Cecil, Backstory, But puts the pieces back together after a long time, Carlos Snoops, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Carlos wants to know more, Cecil goes Insane, Cecil had a rough upbringing, Cecil is Mostly Human, Cecil's path to becoming the Voice was not an easy one, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Mind Rape, Old Woman Josie is awesome, Physical Abuse, Rape Recovery, Romance, Scientist Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Torture, Young Cecil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japangirlcmw/pseuds/japangirlcmw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil is the Voice of Night Vale. This is common knowledge, of course, and each night, the calming baritone of his voice sweeps over the city, bringing news and insights to each and every citizen of the small desert town. </p>
<p>Why is it, then, that Cecil was missing for four years during his time as an Intern? The prophecy came true, and a Radio Host needed to be created. The others didn't last, but Cecil was strong enough to survive Station Management, after all. </p>
<p>Years later, he lives a quiet and happy life, with a one Carlos the Scientist, perfect and gentle, caring and loving. But the past dies hard, and it may be time for Cecil to prove his loyalty to Night Vale one more time. </p>
<p>Post Cassette. </p>
<p>Much of Cecil's back story, including abuse/rape/torture is present here, so do tread carefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Torn Asunder

**Author's Note:**

> Recently, I’ve been a little in love with Carlos bringing Cecil home for the holiday fics--more specifically, a certain fic right here on Ao3, It Came Upon a Voidless Clear, written by doodlegirll. It was very well written, romantic, but for some reason, it inspired me to want to write a fanfiction of my own--exploring Cecil’s past. 
> 
> I’ve always thought that Cecil is someone who has gone through a multitude of painful things--even by Night Vale standards--in his quest to become the Voice of the town, but he would be the type to keep that from Carlos. He wouldn't want his perfectly imperfect Carlos to have to deal with the knowledge. Some things are best left in the past. 
> 
> This will be Cecilos, some taking place in the present, and much taking place in the past. I do hope that it is well received! I’m still debating on the length, but it will be quite a few chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy, and comment!

There were moments during the course of a day, in which Cecil ran out of things to say. Or, more specifically, the things that came to him were not things a normal citizen of Night Vale would want--or need--to hear.

And certainly, they were things that Carlos wouldn't need to hear. Perfect, generous, kind Carlos. No, for him, certain things were meant to be kept in the dark. Science was quite the interesting subject, but it would not be helpful here. It wasn’t the broadcasters fault that his head was filling with nasty things--mostly, it was the fault of the banging on the studio door, Station Management, unforgiving as always. The past few weeks had been filled with constant interruption, as if something had crawled into the locked room and interrupted the flow of normal space time, irritating the usually semi-quiet beings. 

As a particularly loud bang caught his attention, Cecil jumped, and released a small, humorless chuckle into the microphone. 

‘’Apologies, listeners, but it seems as though Station Management would like me to take a quick break. Nearing the end of our time anyway, I will leave you with a special, extended version of The Weather. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.’’

Switching the microphone off, displeased with the way the show had ended, he glanced towards the door with fire in his eyes. Things were getting ridiculous. More than being annoying, the banging on the door had interrupted his show five out of the past six broadcasts, and the frequency and volume was increasing. There was an urgency to it, something that had nothing to do with what he was saying into the microphone, but rather, something more pressing. 

Cecil didn’t want to know. And so, he hadn’t asked, or looked for himself. It was unprofessional, perhaps, to run from this issue. However, things had just begun to settle down, after the War with StrexCorp--something which would, at some point, resurface, the way things had been left--but even so, it was time to relax. 

Or, at the very least, he wanted to relax. Whether he was meant to or not. 

Glancing around the office, making sure not to forget anything, he found himself falling into a common daydream--Carlos. Sweet Carlos, most likely at home from a hard days work at the lab by now, still trying to decide what to have for dinner. The scientist was quick witted in many ways, able to throw out insanely difficult and hard to understand lingo at the rate of 5.3 miles per minute, but in the sense of being able to make decisions on things such as dinner plans or where to go on a Sunday drive, he was hopeless. 

Snapping out of his reverie, he rushed for the door--and found himself met with Dana. Well, Dana, as much as she could be Dana. It was becoming more common, for her to manifest, and more delightful to have her back around the studio. They had already lost three more interns since her disappearance, and the new talent pool was being drained quite quickly. 

‘’Cecil,’’ she began, voice hesitant and missing the usual ‘spark’ that was so quintessentially ‘Dana.’ ‘’What’s going on? Why is,’’ her half-corporeal form glanced at the sealed doors, quizzically, ‘’Why are they so upset? I’ve been listening, you haven’t been breaking any rules that I can pinpoint. Unless, the dog food commercial was unintentionally causing residents to think about the dog park, though they haven’t been so stringent before, not in regards to that...’’

‘’I’m sure it’s nothing consequential,’’ Cecil said, with usual cheer in his voice. ‘’You know how they can be. Perhaps they have a personal issue. You know, Dana, I wonder if they have families or their own personal financial issues. I mean, we’ve never seen them after all,’’ he said, brow furrowed. ‘’Anyway, it will wear off. Let’s just let them work it out.’’ He smiled at her, wondering at her current form. ‘’It looks to me like you’re getting stronger. Won’t you come back anytime soon? The station isn’t the same, without your constant...being.’’

Dana wasn’t sold--not by a long shot--but if Cecil didn’t want to talk about something, he was the Master of changing topics. He would lock up, and even though the lanky man knew more about Station Management than anyone, certainly, he wouldn’t speak much about them regardless. 

He didn’t seem worried though. And whether he was being genuine or not, it was comforting. 

‘’I hope so,’’ she said, wistfully. ‘’It seems as though I’m getting better at walking the tightrope between the two worlds. That’s the best way to put it, anyway.’’ She smiled at him, and Cecil couldn’t help but smile back at her enthusiasm. 

It’s why they got along so well--they knew how to keep smiling, even in the worst of times. In the worst of situations. 

‘’Keep working at it,’’ he said quietly, feeling suddenly helpless that he could do nothing to make the process quicker. ‘’I’m sure you’ll be back here, fetching my coffee soon enough.’’

Dana shot him an annoyed look, rolling her eyes comically. ‘’Oh, yes, Cecil. That’s why I’m rushing back. I can’t stand the idea of you having to fetch your own.’’ She winked, nodding her head towards the hall. ‘’To be honest, I miss Khoshekh. How do you know I’m not coming back just for him, hmm?’’

The host laughed, rich baritone always capable of wrapping those nearby in impenetrable warmth. ‘’I wouldn’t blame you, Dana. I wouldn’t blame you.’’ Realizing the time as he glanced over at the wall clock, he shot her a look--which she understand. ‘’Yes, yes, rush home to your beloved Carlos,’’ she drawled, imitating his radio voice, not able to hide the smile on her face. ‘’I’m glad you two are finally living together. Just wish I could have seen his face when he walked in to your house. Has he decided to redecorate yet?’’

Cecil sighed, ignoring the question, and smiled wearily. ‘’I’ll see you tomorrow, I hope. Save your energy if you need to, but...’’ Glancing over at the door to Station Management before he realized what he was doing, he looked back. ‘’It would be nice to have company right now.’’

Dana looked at him, eyes overflowing with something akin to worry. ‘’Cecil, what--’’ 

She was cut off by the host rushing past, swinging the door open clumsily, and hollering out a loud ‘’Talk to you later, Dana, be safe!’’

The woman closed her eyes, biting her lip. ‘’What in the world is going on...’’

Yes, things were stranger than normal. And that was saying something. 

\----------------

Cecil had taken to walking home. It was time to get his mind together, time to destress, time to simply think. Because the Gods knew that he couldn’t really ‘think’ sometimes when he was around Carlos. It was too easy to get lost in his smile, his eyes, alight with something new he had discovered or learned on any given day. Because Night Vale was a ‘hotbed of surreal scientific discovery’, something like that. 

His tattoos moved, and somehow, it seemed to tickle his skin. An odd sensation, one that he hadn’t experienced in a while. Muttering something in a foreign tongue to them, effectively telling them to cut it out for the time being, he picked up his gait, ready to spend the night in a worry free environment. 

Tomorrow would bring more troubles. 

The house was in view, and he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips when he saw Carlos’s car--sparkling clean, as if it were impervious to the desert sands. The scientist was a tidy person, something he attributed to everything needing to be easy to find in the lab--and it was good, because Cecil’s home wasn’t as clean as his studio. He chalked it up to having collected too many knick-knacks over the years. He could never say no to a good yard sale. 

Carlos had been kind enough not to say anything about the troll dolls and the porcelain angels. Such a kindhearted, perfect man. 

Perfect, indeed.

Making his way up the steps, he found the door unlocked--which, he would let slide. Even when Carlos was there, Cecil was the type to be extra cautious. Also, not locking your doors could sometimes be a punishable offense--though, most of the time, not. 

Walking into the living room, he found it empty--but listening out for any movement, he heard the spray of the shower, and smiled softly, feeling very much like they had, in fact, begun to make a home together. It was difficult to say how long the process of ‘making’ a home was--but, it seemed perfect to him, the way it was. If not a little eclectic...He knew his tastes were, to some, questionable. 

Throwing his keys on the table, he began to take off his vest, to slip into something less constricting--but paused, when he saw the mail on the table. Advertisements were mandated, and there were more than a dozen each day, no, that was normal, but what wasn’t normal was an actual letter. Addressed to him. And stamped in a language that even he had only seen a handful of times. 

Cecil knew what it was. How could he not? But Carlos wouldn’t have. And the seal hadn’t been tampered with, thank the Gods.

Gripping it in a shaky hand, he began to pull back the flap with little emotion. It would come, he was always told it would come, and yet, he found himself still in complete and utter denial. 

How childish. 

Halfway through pulling the sticker off the manila envelope, the tell-tale squeak of the shower being turned off rang out, and Cecil stopped dead in his tracks. If he opened it, Carlos would no doubt see, Carlos would ask too many questions, at least for now. No, it could wait...It needed to wait. Perhaps for a long time, he wondered how long he could get away with ignoring it. 

That was a horrible idea, for certain. 

‘’Cecil?’’ Carlos’s voice rang out through the apartment, sounding rejuvenated, eased, relaxed. Those were things that Cecil wasn’t in the mood to spoil, not with something like this, no matter how monumental it may be. 

‘’I’m here,’’ he said, and his voice came out much less excited than it should have. Curse it all, he thought, before speaking up, his voice thick with the pure joy that was so quintessentially Cecil. ‘’And how was your day doing science? Did you find out why the water coming out of the sinks was glowing neon orange? Curious that it was clear when coming out of the showerhead...’’ He mumbled, opening the fridge to see what needed to be restocked. ‘Everything’ was the answer. The week had been so arduous that he hadn’t even been eating as much as usual. 

There were too many unknowns, too much at stake, and it was going to be hard to hold things together this time. But for Carlos, he could…

The darker skinned man exited the bathroom, a towel around his waist as he rushed to the bedroom to fetch some pajamas for the night. Realizing they had no food, Cecil called out, ‘’Do you want to go out to dinner? There isn’t much--’’

‘’I brought something, it’s on the counter!’’ Carlos called back, and surely enough, the tattooed man turned to see bags, filled with container after container. 

‘’It’s Chinese, I think,’’ the scientist said hesitantly as he appeared in a loose fitting white T-shirt and flannel pajama pants. The desert could be surprisingly chilly at night, and Cecils home had a sort of bone-numbing cold to it on occasion. Though, that could just be the ghostly presence or the Faceless Old Woman’s fault. Either way, he had learned to live with it. Just as he had learned to live with the hideous decor, seeming to be straight out of the sixties. 

If it made Cecil happy, it was good enough for him. After all, it wasn’t as if they had many house guests...Though, if his family ever decided to visit Night Vale…

Shaking the thought out of his head, he decided to save that hurdle for another time. It was a disturbing thought--and less because of the bright green flowery carpet and matching curtains. 

Cecil finally stripped off his vest, eyeing Carlos as he did. ‘’You didn’t have to bring anything. It must have been quite the trouble, to get Chinese food...I know that sometimes, the owners can be a little--’’

‘’Snarling? That’s the word I’d use. But the food seems edible enough.’’ Carlos started to pull the tops off what should have been General Tso’s Chicken. It wasn’t moving, and didn’t have a barcode on each piece for tracking, so it was probably edible. 

‘’Oh, it’s delicious. It’s perfectly safe, dear Carlos. I’ve eaten there plenty of times, and only come down with a life threatening, soul-crushing illness twice.’’ The host smiled brightly, no hint of sarcasm in his words. 

The scientist tended to feel less hungry after hearing things like that. Though, forgetting to eat while working in the lab was one of his strong suits, and his stomach betrayed him by growling at that very moment. 

‘’Should I spoon some out for you Cec?’’ The scientist glanced back, and froze when he saw Cecil simply staring into space. The Voice of Night Vale could be eccentric in many ways, but this wasn’t one of them--at least, not commonly. Cecil was always a ball of energy, from the moment he woke up, to the moment he fell into a heavy sleep. He never really complained, never seemed to take things too seriously, until…

‘’Cec?’’ Carlos said softly, putting down the plate and walking over, reaching out a hand and gripping Cecils wrist, peering into his eyes. ‘’Hey, what is it?’’ The scientist kept his voice low, not looking to startle the other. Something had been wrong the entire week, but Carlos hadn’t wanted to mention it. Night Vale had a way of keeping secrets when it needed to, and he knew that Cecil wouldn’t give him any answers if he pried. It wasn’t something that bothered him--at least, until Cecil himself seemed to be upset about something, and he didn’t know how to help. 

The blonde turned his face to him, as if not at all aware of what was happening. His eyes weren’t filled with the same common joy; instead, there was a deep exhaustion that was emanating from them, as if the dam holding back that need to sleep had broken. Whatever had been going on at the station was having an effect on him, and Carlos was suddenly more alarmed than he had been. Things that happened at the station were often times unexplainable, and would work themselves out in time--on any other radio station, the interruptions wouldn’t be anything to be concerned with. But here, there was some strange connection between Cecil and his work, and anything that didn’t go smoothly was immediately flagged as imminent trouble in Carlos’s mind. 

‘’I’m fine,’’ he said, and his voice was small, too small. He did his best to put a smile on his face, but it looked wrong, not forced--Of course Cecil could smile for Carlos, Carlos was his world, he was imperfectly perfect--but the smile held something behind it, something heavier, as if it were a smile not meant to be worn by the broadcaster.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. 

Carlos had felt his heart speed up as he saw the look on his lovers face, and he reached a hand up to touch Cecils cheek. It had an effect, and the lanky man gasped, as if he had just been doused with cold water and forced to awaken. Carlos jerked his hand back, but Cecil quickly reached out and gripped it with both of his own, bringing the scientists hand to his face, holding it tightly. 

‘’I’m sorry, Carlos, this week has been...’’ he trailed off, keeping that surreal smile on his face, needing to protect Carlos, always protect Carlos. That was the most important thing. 

The dark haired man shook his head, holding Cecils hand tightly. ‘’I know,’’ he said gently, trying to look into Cecils eyes. ‘’I haven’t asked, because I assumed that you would tell me it was nothing. That Station Management is just a little...testy, lately, but,’’ he paused, glancing over at the envelope on the table. He hadn’t tampered with it--he had no intention of breaking Cecils trust--but he assumed the two were related. A scientist was able to put the pieces together, of any puzzle, if he tried hard enough. And Carlos knew that he couldn’t fail as a scientist. 

‘’It’s more than that, isn’t it?’’ He didn’t want to press, still, but the curiosity was becoming too much. And even more than that, it was starting to affect more than just the quality of the show. 

‘’The past few days, you’ve been...quiet,’’ Carlos commented, reaching down and gripping both of Cecils hands tightly. More troubling, was the fact that Cecil wouldn’t meet his eye. Cecil never looked away, Cecil wore his heart on his sleeve. No matter how difficult a day at the lab, Carlos knew with certainty that when he returned home, there would be a grinning radio host, rambling about portals or time-space or Khoshekh. 

This week had been...off.

‘’You can talk to me, Cecil, I won’t--’’

‘’Not about this, Carlos.’’ 

That stopped him, dead in his tracks. Finally, the tattooed man met his gaze, and his eyes, purple, like an ocean sunset in November, were filled with emotion that could only be tumultuous, a worried gaze that pierced through him like nothing had before. Certain things, a person would become accustomed to--Hearing your significant other say ‘I love you’, watching Cecil trip when he got out of the tub nearly every time, and laughing about it just as hard each moment it happened. He was used to those things. But he wasn’t used to this look in his lovers eyes, something that looked fundamentally wrong. 

Carlos didn’t like this. 

He was silent, waiting for Cecil to continue, not wanting to force him, yet feeling somehow hurt that he wasn’t being informed. They had a life together, a home, they shared so much with each other--it had seemed to him that nothing was off limits. And now, he found himself questioning something that had been a pillar of their relationship. 

Complete and utter honesty. 

Everyone had secrets, and that was fine. There were things in his past that Cecil didn’t need to know, because they were long gone, and he was no longer affected. Whatever was happening here…

Cecil was affected. 

Perhaps it had to do with the cassette tape, though it had been weeks since that occurred, and they had dealt with it together. For a few days, at least, before Cecil was completely, and overwhelmingly, ‘back to normal.’ Maybe he hadn’t taken enough time, maybe he--

‘’This is too much, Carlos. Dear, sweet Carlos.’’ Cecil gripped Carlos’s hands tight. ‘’But it, like all things, shall pass. The sooner the better.’’ Leaning in, he pressed his lips to the corner of Carlos’s mouth--but the scientist turned his head immediately, and met the other man's lips, with a kiss so gentle, he hoped in vain that it would cure all things. That it would heal whatever wound had begun to open up. 

It wasn’t a very scientific hypothesis. 

Taking a moment, the scientist pulled back, and surrendered. ‘’Whatever you need, I’m here.’’ 

It wasn’t enough. He hated this.

And suddenly, he felt himself enveloped in Cecil, his arms wrapping around him, tattoos writhing against his skin, somehow more worked up than usual. It almost looked painful, the way they were moving, as if they were upset, willing to break free. But he could only embrace Cecil back, holding him tightly. It was silent, but it meant something--it made him feel a little more useful. 

‘’I’ll take a shower,’’ the host mumbled against his shoulder, trying to make things as normal as they could be. ‘’You can eat, I know you’re hungry. I don’t have much of an appetite.’’ Tired voice, not the one on the radio. 

It hurt Carlos to hear it. 

‘’I’ll save plenty for you, let me know if you want any in a bit.’’ Carlos pulled back, smiling at him calmly. It was what Cecil needed, perhaps. 

‘’Take a hot shower, you’ll feel better.’’

Wandering towards the bathroom with a slow gait, Cecil paused to look back, not trying to disguise his frown now. But his words were raw and honest, and that was important to Carlos--lies weren’t a foundation. But he knew Cecil would never lie on purpose--only to protect him. 

‘’I’m sorry, Carlos.’’

The scientist shook his head, for some reason feeling a rush of emotion, the need to run over and kiss Cecil breathless, take him to bed and make him forget what was hurting him so much, what had him so worried. ‘’There is nothing to apologize for. Everything will be fine.’’

The host smiled briefly, almost genuine, and closed the door behind him, leaving the scientist to lean heavily against the old oak table, until he heard the shower come on, the noise calming, normal, comfortingly domestic. Turning his head, he saw the letter on the table, and knew that he was going to open it. 

It had already been halfway opened. Why had Cecil stopped? Was it dangerous? 

A scientist couldn’t walk away from danger. And really, what wasn’t dangerous in Night Vale? 

Reaching out, he gripped it, trying to silence the guilt in his mind, and peeled off the rest of the tape. There was a single sheet of paper inside, and as he pulled it out, he realized that much of it was in a language that he couldn’t read. 

Frustrated, he skimmed it for anything, only pausing at the very bottom. It was written there, in bold ink, nothing that could be mistaken. Carlos’s heart stopped in his chest, and he felt himself start to get dizzy, the urge to be sick quickly becoming overpowering. 

 

***  
Cecil Gershwin Palmer : Platinum Re-Education Approaching   
(Platinum Re-Education Mandatory, every 10 years)  
Duration of Re-Education : Unknown (Indefinite.)  
Prior Education Duration: 4 years, 144 days

***


	2. Like an Open Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carlos is a smart cookie, and Josie knows too much.

There were things to be discussed. Many things, all necessary for their relationship, the certainty of the future, the bridge between them that was always easily traversed. Now, it wasn’t so--at least, it hadn’t seemed so to Carlos. Was he angry? Of course not. Where, in the big scheme of things, did anger fit in? Upset. Confused. Those worked, though they didn’t always seem strong enough. 

After he had read what he could of the letter, he had slid it back into the envelope, sealing it back up as well as he could, and had fallen into the hideously painted bright orange wooden chair beside the table, not finding energy to do all the things he wished he could. He wanted to ask a thousand questions--though he hadn’t been sure to whom he would direct them. He had wanted to barge in on Cecils shower, gaze at the soft skin, run his hands over his tribal tattoos and asked him how this could happen. Ask him what the meaning of this was, ask him if anything could be done; and yet, he sat in that chair, staring at the lines in the wooden floor, the pockmarks, letting himself get lost in them, like a small child would get lost watching the clouds. 

Carlos was more logical than anything. But not when it came to Cecil. And that was something entirely new to deal with, alongside dealing with the terrors of Night Vale. 

At some point, Cecil had emerged from the bathroom, hair dripping. He never got it quite dry enough with the towel, and there was a common ritual now, when Carlos would dry it for him, would run the towel over every inch of him, just to be sure that he was dry before he put on his pajamas. It didn’t seem like he had tripped getting out of the tub this time--though, truthfully, he hadn’t really been listening for it. 

It had been like every other night, and it was completely different. 

He ran the towel over Cecils back, following the contours of his skin, his pronounced shoulder blades, the image of the tattoos flowing seamlessly, something that only managed to look natural on his pale skin. The small of his back was still Carlos’s favorite part, unmarked and perfect, sensitive. To grow up in Night Vale was something dangerous, Carlos knew--and his boyfriend's body, while slim, was strong, toned, no doubt from fighting for his life at some point. 

As soon as the man was dry, Carlos wrapped his arms around Cecil from behind, burying his face in his neck, inhaling his clean scent, willing himself to be calm and not give anything away. 

But Cecil wasn’t stupid. And unbeknownst to Carlos, his emotions were having a nasty effect on the broadcaster. 

That would be discussed at another time, Cecil thought, through the heavy weight pressing down on his chest. Lifting a hand, he ran his fingers through Carlos’s soft, glossy locks, appreciating them as he did every other day. Perhaps a little bit more. 

“Promise me you’ll be okay,” the scientist whispered, sounding more out of sorts than he ever had before. “Promise me you aren’t going anywhere. Promise me that you won’t leave me.”

It was enough to warrant a sound much like a sob to erupt from Cecil, as he turned around in the man's grasp, wrapping his arms around him tightly, needing to assure him, needing to let him know, needing him to understand. Understand things that were far beyond his understanding. It was asking too much, but he needed it, he needed it because it was going to be vital in this fight. 

And, yes, there would be a fight. 

“My Carlos, my everything,” he choked, not caring in that moment that he was still naked, “I’ll never leave you. No matter what, I can promise you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Carlos thought about the content of the envelope, and shook his head. “But, it--”

Cecil pulled back, pressing a slim finger to the scientists lips. “I’m not going anywhere.” His tone held a key of finality to it, somehow begging the dark haired man to let it be. Cecil looked exhausted, and that was without looking at whatever was contained inside of the envelope, Carlos realized. He knew. He must know, that was why Station Management was being this way. Reminding him of what was coming. 

Carlos didn’t know about ninety nine percent of what was happening. But the one percent he had uncovered was enough to cement the fact that he wasn’t going to let it happen. 

All he could do was nod his head. He loathed this feeling of a wall between them, but had faith that it would fade in time...As soon as all of this was worked out. But how could it be worked out? Could station management really be fought? Could this be altered, or postponed, or--

“Can we get in bed?” The hosts voice was small, and he had a small smile on his face, no doubt ready to keep himself together for Carlos. It was frustrating that he’d get no real answers to this, that Cecil wouldn’t even say it outloud, that disgusting word--Re-education. Though, it really was a discussion that may be best had another day--or, even better, if the whole issue would just disappear. 

Highly improbable. 

“Yeah,” Carlos heard himself say, suddenly put off the idea of food. “You go, I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

Cecil glanced over at the food, frowning. “You went to all the trouble, I--”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Carlos looked at him sternly. “Let’s just...sleep. I think it will help.” Reaching out a tanned hand, he cupped Cecils face, gently running a thumb under his eye. ‘’You look exhausted. You have all week.” Frustrated, he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, I haven’t even asked what’s wrong, I just thought--”

“You thought right, dear Carlos,” Cecil began, reaching up and taking Carlos hand, kissing each finger. “When I’m ready to talk, I’ll talk. I promise I won’t do anything...drastic, without first telling you.” He gazed into the scientists eyes pleading. “Please, trust me.”

Carlos frowned, sighing, agitated--not at the blonde in front of him, looking so wrecked and just off, but at this strange situation. Did Cecil even realize what he’d done, that he’d been able to understand the letter? Were they not even going to broach the subject? 

The second Cecil’s lips met his, he knew that they weren’t. Forgetting the food, they made their way to the bedroom, finding a kind of solace that was only granted by physical means. Nothing quick and rough, perhaps it wasn’t even love-making in the traditional sense. Something deeper, more sincere than any amount of sex could be, something needy, but slow, reassuring, nothing existing in those moments except for the two of them, pressed together, bodies intertwined. Kisses up the length of Cecils neck, the broadcasters fingers brushing down Carlos’s spine, no words spoken. As if everything had been choreographed beforehand, the sign of soul-mates, effortless and mutual understanding. 

That was the memory that would get Carlos through. 

And Cecil--Cecil would have to be strong, as he always was. Now, he had something very precious to be fighting for.

 

\-------------

 

The alarm had gone off the next morning, and Carlos had not stirred. 

Looking back, just reading what was written on that single sheet of paper had been enough to completely zap him of any energy that he needed for the following days work. It had sent him into one of the most heavy--and most troubled--sleep cycles of his life, and yet, when he finally did open his eyes, Cecil had already left for work. It was rare, that he would wake up on time, and get out of bed without prodding. 

He must be afraid to displease them. 

It was Friday, luckily, and the weekend would bring time that they needed together, desperately. This wasn’t a normal (relatively speaking) Night Vale issue. This was personal. 

_‘God, Cecil...’_

Reaching over to grab the clock, turning it towards him to see the numbers staring back at him, 9:32, he cursed. Laying on his back for a few moments, thinking about his options, he knew what he was going to do. Trying to talk himself out of it was worthless, because when Carlos was thirsty for knowledge, he would seek it out. 

There would be time to apologize. 

Reaching over to his nightstand--or, what was supposed to be one, something that had been sculpted out of animal bones, and quite frankly terrified the scientist when he caught sight of it in the mornings sun--he grabbed his cell phone, flipping it open to make a call, but first seeing a few text messages from Cecil. 

 

_You didn’t sleep well, stayed up with you much of the night_   
_please don’t be afraid Carlos, I’ll be fine_   
_nothing is going to change, I promise, I’ll figure this out_   
_i love you_

Carlos gripped the phone tightly, shaking his head. ‘No, Cecil, I’m going to figure this out too. You aren’t alone here.’

Finding this not the time to argue, he began typing out a message of his own, all Cecil needed to know. 

_Sorry I kept you up. I love you so much, be strong today_

Hitting send, he finally scrolled to the number he needed, holding it to his ear and wincing at the volume being way too high for his recently-awakened brain. ‘’Hey, count me out today. Caught a bug.’’ There was some yelling from the other end of the phone. ‘’No, not an actual bug. I don’t think so, anyway, just feeling kind of under the weather. I’ll be in on Monday.’’ And before waiting for a response, he snapped it closed, putting it back on the nightstand and sitting up, running his hands over his face. 

Shower. That would help. He needed a plan. 

Stumbling into the bathroom, in a Cecil-esque manner, he realized that he had slept naked--usually boxers were a matter of comfort--and he turned on the water, glad to find it looking as normal as it could. Waiting until it was warm enough, he stepped in, letting it run over his face, startling him into the world of the living. 

What was he going to do?

As a scientist, he needed to think logically. Yes, he could do that. 

What did he want to know? He wanted to know what it meant by ‘Platinum Re-education.’ He wanted to know why it said that the last Re-education had lasted four years. The longest he had heard of was a few days, and even that was rare. It usually didn’t take that long for them to do...whatever it was they did. 

Why did he want to know this? Because he wanted to help, and he couldn’t do so in the dark. As he was now, knowing only pieces of the puzzle, there was only so much support he could give, only so many things he could say without sounding foolish. What did he know? 

He was an outsider, after all.

The biggest question was how. And, more specifically, who? He highly doubted that Station Management was going to hand over some files about it all, and even more unlikely was that Carlos would get a ‘meeting’ with them regardless. 

He started to try to figure out what ‘they’ were, but he realized that a headache had already come on, and it was best not to add to it. 

Who? Someone in Night Vale had to have been around ten years ago, and even more so, they would have to be someone who maybe, just maybe, would tell him at least SOME of what was going on--

Yes. 

As he was running shampoo through his hair, it struck him. Carlos remembered times at home, with his family, around the dinner table, at holidays. He remembered the topics of conversation, normal family matters, but more so, he remembered who did most of the talking. 

His abuela. No one could tell stories like an old woman. 

_An Old woman._

Smiling to himself, he began to wash the strange smelling goo out of his hair (It smelled like cardboard, but knowing Night Vale, that was what it was meant to smell like,) and quickly washed the rest of himself, before hurriedly turning the water off, drying off expertly and pulling clothes out of the drawer, something more laid back--though, still wearing the lab coat out of habit. 

He wouldn’t lie to Cecil...Not forever. This was his only shot, anyway. If it didn’t work out, he couldn’t think of another way to get the knowledge that he needed. 

Slipping his shoes on, reminding himself to get more once again, though knowing he’d forget, he rushed to pull a bottled water out of the fridge--no time for coffee--and grabbed his keys off the ring, hooks hanging by the door painted ‘school-bus yellow’--easy to see. 

Swinging his car door open, the scientist said no to breakfast, and started driving, swinging the car around like a bat out of hell, unable to multitask at the moment. It wasn’t far to Old Woman Josie’s house, and he hoped that she was awake. 

Who was he kidding? Old people always got up before the sun. 

Biting his lip, he was careful to obey all traffic laws, not exactly ready to find out what the penalty was for breaking one. 

_‘Can’t handle that, on top of everything else, that’s for damn sure...’_

Seeing the somewhat tidy yard, house old but well taken care of (By angels--No, best not to think of that either), he pulled in to her driveway, the passing thought of somehow sand-proofing his car popping up in his mind, quickly squelched by his urge for answers. Scientists were starving for information, about anything and everything. 

But this wasn’t just anything. It was, however, everything. Cecil was everything to him, and that’s why he had to do this. 

_‘I’m sorry, Cecil,’_ he thought bitterly, as he made his way to the door, _‘I hope that you don’t hate me for this, but it’s me. I’ll always be here.’_

Ringing the doorbell, he could swear that he saw a shadow behind the curtain-covered windowed door, that was very un-old lady-like, but he didn’t ponder on it too long. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened, just a fraction, and Carlos caught sight of her familiar face. 

‘’Ah, the handsome scientist,’’ she said with some mirth in her voice, ‘’how strange, to see you at my door!’’ 

Realizing that it wasn’t a threat, or anyone after her heavenly beings, she opened the door fully, dressed in a nightgown, curlers in her hair. The quintessential old woman uniform--and yet, Carlos knew, there was nothing ‘normal’ about Josie, just as there was nothing ‘normal’ about Night Vale. 

Or, maybe he was thinking too much. 

‘’Good morning,’’ he said softly, hand against the doorframe, peering inside--suddenly, he found himself curious about the interior of her home, and if it was as eccentric as Cecils. The answer was, unequivocally, no. “Sorry to bother you so early, but...I was wondering if I could ask you a few things.” It was vague, and he hated that it sounded so clinical--because this wasn’t an experiment, or anything to do with the oddness of the city. This was much more important. 

Josie cocked an eyebrow, looking Carlos over, from his labcoat to his so-called ‘perfect hair.’ “I see what he means about your hair.” She walked forward and reached up a wrinkled hand, running it through his still wet locks. “Even sopping wet, it looks nice.” Looking into the scientists eyes knowingly, she lowered her voice. “Now, what has you rushing over here so quickly? What could you possibly have to discuss with an old lady?”

Carlos paused, not knowing if he should ask a simple question first, to get complicated ones answered later. But in the end, he felt too tired to run circles around it. 

“...Cecil.” He said, throat feeling parched all of a sudden, “I need to ask you about Cecil.”

Josies face stayed the same, wise and knowing, but her eyes darkened a bit, and she lowered her gaze. 

Carlos’s heart sank. 

‘’What is--”

“Do you like coffee?”

Carlos paused at the question. “What?”

“Do you like coffee,” Josie asked enunciating her words. “And if you’ve eaten anything, I’m sorry.” She didn’t elaborate on that point, only opened the door wide enough to let Carlos inside. 

The scientist didn’t know what to make of what she had said, but he nodded once. “I like coffee, yes.” His words were slow and hesitant. 

“Come on in,” she said, words heavy. “Do you have to get to work, dear?” She shuffled towards the kitchen, and Carlos was taken aback by just how...normal, her home looked. Quilts, knitting on the table, a television switched to what looked like some odd soap opera--except, in some strange form of Ancient Greek, it sounded like--but it looked like his Abuelas house. He found some sort of strange comfort in that. 

“No, I took the day off today,” he said softly, watching as she began to pour him a cup of coffee, having obviously just made some, as the kitchen still smelled strongly of it. 

Old Woman Josie nodded her head, handing him a cup, and gesturing to the living room. “Good. Because if you’re asking what I think you’re asking me, this may take a while.” She smiled sadly, sitting in her rocker, while Carlos took a seat on the sofa, overly stuffed, and a little TOO comfortable. 

It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, which stretched out for a few moments, before Carlos found his voice--but it was enough to make his heart race, with fear, and with something else he couldn’t name. 

“He-Cecil, he got a letter, in the mail yesterday.”

Josie nodded her head softly, before her eyes moved to a calendar on the wall. ‘’I suppose it has been ten years, hasn’t it...’’ She took another sip of her coffee, shaking her head. “Ten years seems much too short of a time between re-education. Then again, once every thousand years would still seem like too much.”

Carlos was speechless for a moment, perhaps not expecting the answers to come so freely. “I’m sorry, but how do you--”

“Because I was the one who found him, after it was done. I became his family back then, Mr. Handsome Scientist,” she said, not cruelly, but with some edge of frustration in her voice. “I know that you’re looking for answers behind his back, and part of me doesn’t blame you. Not in the slightest, you two are like two peas in a pod, and yet he won’t tell you a darn thing, I know.” She closed her eyes. “I know that boy better than anyone, you can bet your salt.”

The dark skinned man had hit the jackpot, he thought sullenly. 

“He won’t be happy with what I’m going to tell you. But I am going to tell you, because I can’t watch history be repeated. And you might have enough smarts in that head of yours to find him a way out of this.”

Carlos nodded. “Why--Four years, it said. Why was it--”

Josie raised a hand. “One thing at a time. Do you have a weak stomach?” She waved a hand, as if she intended to take the sentence back. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter if you do or not. If you love someone, you can’t stand to hear about ‘em hurt.” 

He nodded his head, running his hands over his face. 

“What I’m going to tell you, dear, is not very nice. A lot of it has to do with how Cecil became a radio host. I’m sure that sounds funny to you--how hard could it be, with that pretty voice of his--but it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy.” Josie suddenly looked much older, and she gripped her cup with both hands, attempting to perhaps warm something deeper than her skin. “I’ll tell it once. You’ll pay attention, because I don’t think I can do it twice.” 

The scientist was afraid. 

“Please...I love him.” He didn’t know what else to say. “I-I feel so--”

“He can’t handle talking about the things I’m going to tell you. You’ll see why.” She sounded like a grandmother, nurturing and gentle. “But I know he loves you too. Hell, all of Night Vale could tell you that.”

Carlos gave a little chuckle at that, hoping that right now, Cecil was saying something lovey-dovey on air. 

“Where should I begin…”

And Carlos prepared himself to listen, no matter how hard it would be.


	3. Emergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil's story begins--and Carlos isn't sure he is ready to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m pondering the idea of doing a sequel fic, from Cecil’s point of view, during all of this, and during the past. I’d like both sides of the story, though, no doubt, Cecil’s will be harder to write--and, in the same boat, harder to read. For now, we’ll let Josie talk. I adore her. 
> 
> I simply like writing it in this kind of ‘discussion’ format between Carlos and Josie. Hopefully, none of you mind!
> 
> This chapter is still safe. The next chapter is where graphic things will begin. So, keep that in mind. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments, and thank you for reading!

“I suppose we should start from the beginning,” Josie mused quietly, leaning her head back in her rocker, the sunbeams reaching out through the blinds to dance across her blue nightgown. “I first met Cecil as a young, young boy...probably four or five years old. My health wasn’t so great back then, and I didn’t make too many trips out. But one day, he came to my door.” She smiled, a little chuckle shaking her body as she tried to keep it silent. “He was quite a sight. He still had that hair, that blonde mop on his head, sticking out every which way. It’s started to calm down now, but he was really a mess back then.”

Carlos couldn’t help the smile that lit up his face as he tried to imagine Cecil as a boy. There were no family photos in his home, at least not that Carlos had seen--nothing on the walls, never a mention of family, or anything deep about his upbringing. Only the mention of badges he had earned in scouts, or vague allusions to schooling. Carlos had plenty of stories to tell from his childhood, yet Cecil...It seemed a subject that almost didn’t exist. As if Cecil had either forgotten chunks of it, or simply wanted to forget. 

Perhaps he would finally have his answer to that. 

“He’s always been a lanky little thing. He’s grown into it, now, but he was a pitiful sight.” She leaned forward, still laughing. “But he had those eyes, you know, those wide eyes. The sweetest things. He was selling something that day...Though, to be honest, this old woman can’t remember what in the devil it was.” 

The scientist smiled and shook his head, gesturing that it wasn’t important. “I never hear about his childhood, really...just a passing comment, here and there. Almost like he doesn’t fully remember it, though…” He paused, looking up with certainty. “His memories were erased, weren’t they? I know that they do that to people, it’s just--the other day, on his show, the cassette that he found--”

Josie held up a hand, to end his hypothesis, and Carlos heard his jaw snap audibly as he quit talking out of respect. He was rambling; it was his habit, when his mind started to try to make sense of what the hell was going on in this town.

The old woman didn’t seem like someone you’d want to annoy. Just like how a person would try to behave, and be polite for their own abuela, he waited for her to continue. 

“He hasn’t had his memories erased.”

Carlos looked at her with obvious skepticism, but she quickly shot him a tough look right back. “I may be old, but I’m not senile, and I’m not crazy. Trust me on this, that boys got his memory intact.” She sighed heavily. “He’s got too _**much**_ memory intact.” 

The scientist didn’t know what to say to that. The sinking feeling that Cecil had been lying to him crossed his mind--and yet, he knew it was best to reserve judgement until this day was over. 

Heavy silence. Weighted, as if the words needed to be dragged out of the old woman. Carlos suddenly felt guilty, for asking what must have been too much of her. But before he could vocalize that, she continued. 

“Anyway, he was an adorable little one, that’s for sure. He had a high pitched voice, not that handsome one he has now, just a little tiny squeak. He was shy, back then, but he didn’t really have anyone instilling confidence in him.”

Carlos nodded. “I know that he had a mother, and apparently, a brother...though, he really hasn’t said much about them. Was a father in the picture, or…”

Josie shook her head after a few moments, not knowing how best to answer. ‘’Of course he had one. But neither one of ‘em knew how to be parents. Not really.” That was an understatement, really. “The father wasn’t really in the picture. I don’t think I saw him, even once. But, I’m under the impression that he was a strict fella, no-nonsense type. And as you know, Cecil is nothing if not nonsense.” She smiled kindly, and Carlos nodded, brow furrowed in worry. 

“Then he..” He didn’t want to articulate it. Josie shook her head. 

“The two of them were just damned neglectful. That day, when Cecil knocked on my door, his clothes were filthy, dirt on his face, holes in his shoes...a bit like yours,” she gestured to his sneakers, and the dark skinned man blushed furiously, ignoring the smirk on the old womans face. “I knew his mother, in passing. I should say, I knew enough. She was a kind enough woman, blonde haired, a little bit of an eccentric. At least, I thought as much, until I realized that she had...gifts.”

The scientist looked at her with intense curiosity. But before he could ask more, Josie looked up patiently. “I suppose by now, you’ve realized that Cecil isn’t quite...normal.”

Carlos was almost offended by her use of the word ‘normal,’ having grown up in a world where not being normal meant bullying and judgement--but, then he remembered where he was. “Not much in Night Vale is normal.”

Josie nodded at that, looking up at the ceiling with a wide smile. “Quite true, quite true. Cecil’s mother--and I apologize, her name is lost on me now--but she had the gift of second sight. Could see what the future would bring, could see into people's minds, things like that.”

The way she said it was so nonchalant, as if having psychic abilities were commonplace, and not worth scientific study.

...Ah, yes. Night Vale. How silly of him. 

Things that were once beyond impossible, were not completely believable--and probable, at least here. 

He nodded slowly, still bothered by the thought of Cecil being neglected. Carlos had grown up in a large, loving family--normal, by most standards. There was always something to do, someone to talk to, to play with. It upset him, thinking of Cecil not being cared for, not having what any child deserved. 

The mental image was something so slight, but it hurt.

“So, she was psychic. Did that someone keep her from taking care of her children?” Carlos couldn’t keep the bite out of his voice--even though this was an issue long past, it was still enough to make his blood boil. 

This was what love felt like, I guess. Being protective, even when there really was not a thing you could do to change the past. And Carlos had a feeling that it was only going to get worse. 

“I won’t make excuses for her, dear. If she was having trouble, she should have done more than just leave Cecil to his own devices. Really, the way it seemed to me, the visions were rendering her pretty much useless. She couldn’t control them, and it made her a little...unstable.” She shook her head, scrunching up her brow. “This isn’t really important, in comparison to what we need to discuss. But I assumed that he hadn’t said much about it.”

“I was under the impression that he didn’t really remember,” Carlos said sadly, feeling more and more left out of his boyfriends life. But Josie quickly intervened. 

“I’ll get to that. But don’t you worry, he isn’t trying to lie to you, not one bit. One thing has never changed, and that is--Cecil doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. With everything that happened, he’s been able to hold onto that.” She smiled at him sweetly, knowingly. “You’re good for each other. I’m glad you came to our little town, even if it is to stick your nose in everyone's business.”

Carlos smiled self-consciously, deciding to take that as a compliment. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “I’m glad I’m here too. I might finally be getting used to it.” Inasfar as a person could get used to a place so strange. 

Josie smiled, and decided to move on. “I do think that she loved Cecil with all her heart, there’s not a doubt in my mind. I think that slowly, her ability got stronger and stronger, until she couldn’t cope with it. Started taking it out on everyone. You know how it can be; when you’re in pain, it’s hard to be nice. The father, I think that he may have used some kind of force, to keep her in line. I wanted to do something, but there wasn’t much I could do.” She looked apologetic, her heart always in the right place. “I did enjoy the times I spent with him as a boy. It happened gradually, he joined those scouts, and was quite active in school. He was always selling something for pocket money, or for charity--or he was trying to get the most badges, though I’m not sure how I helped with that. I think that he just wanted someone to talk to. Maybe somewhere stable to go. Either way, he would come over to sell something, I’d buy it, even if I didn’t need it. And then, I’d always invite him in for a snack, dinner sometimes. He was so skinny, I was worried that they weren’t feeding him--but, seeing him today, I think he’s just built like a beanpole.”

Carlos nodded his head, feeling as though shadows were being illuminated, at long last. He hadn’t known this, one bit. Hadn’t known that Cecil and Old Woman Josie had been close.

Not that it was at all a bad thing. The longer he stayed in Night Vale, and now, sitting on this antique couch that felt too soft to be natural, she was starting to feel like an adoptive grandmother. 

Hopefully the angels would approve. 

“And the day came that his name was up on the board, in front of City Hall. Not many people find themselves up there, most people aren’t too important. But, being the Voice of Night Vale, that’s a job with a lot of responsibility...and I didn’t even know the half of it, not back then.”

It was as Cecil had described it. A prophecy, dictating that he would become a Radio Host. It was the strangest idea--and yet, Carlos knew that here in Night Vale, it wasn’t as inconsequential as it sounded, the position. 

“To be honest, the first thing I thought was, ‘That boy doesn’t have the voice for radio.’”

Carlos chuckled, remembering the sound of prepubescent Cecil, and thinking the same thing. Though, that was long gone, and his voice now…

Well, special didn’t begin to cover it. Neither did smooth, captivating, perfect…

“He came over to tell me the news,” Josie said wistfully, and the dark haired man did his best to not let his mind slowly wander back to Cecil’s dulcet tones, “and he was just starry eyed and full of spunk. You know him, he’s too cute when he gets excited over something. Can’t calm down, he was that way every before it happened.”

Carlos didn’t know what ‘it’ was, but the way it kept being alluded to was heart-stopping already. His imagination was doing all the work, it seemed. 

He settled on agreeing. “Cute is the right word for it, I think.”

Josie smiled, and gestured to his coffee. “More? Or maybe hot cocoa?”

The scientist almost laughed at the suggestion--as if it were strange to drink such a seemingly ‘winter’ drink in the desert--but before he could answer, she had positioned herself to slide out of the chair, being as short as she was, grabbing the rest of his cold coffee from his hand, and starting for the kitchen. “You’ll need the cocoa,” she said, and then mumbled, “Lord knows I do.”

Carlos let it be, and let himself gaze off into nothing for a few minutes--pondering the little that had been told so far, wondering why Cecil hadn’t mentioned that his childhood was at all difficult. What had really happened on the tape? Did Cecil simply not want Carlos to worry? Because he sure as hell was now. 

Suddenly, a warm mug was pushed into his hands with the words ‘Las Vegas’ on the side, and Carlos looked at it curiously, wondering if Josie had ventured out of the town--but, that was a discussion for another time. 

“Just tell me,” he said softly. “I can’t take it. What is this re-education, and why is it so…”

“Brutal? Cruel? Unforgiving?” She suggested, sitting back in her chair, and grabbing the remote, finally switching off the TV, and leaving the room in painful silence. Without the background noise, things tended to become more foreboding.

“Cecil was an intern, that much is true. He graduated, he went to do his best, work with people he admired. He would come and tell me all about what he was learning, and I’d sit right here and listen, and damned if he didn’t make me just as excited as he was. 

And then, he was gone.”

Carlos eyed her with confusion. “Gone? As in, he quit coming by?”

The old woman rolled her eyes and shook her head, as if Carlos were in remedial classes. “Gone, as in gone. Not in the town. Poof, gone.” She lowered her head. “No note, no call, no warning. Apparently, his room was left the same as it had been, nothing missing. But stranger still, his parents were also poof. Except, they never came back.”

The old woman sipped the cocoa, and gestured to a small jar on the table. “There are marshmallows, if you want some. It’s always better with marshmallows.”

But Carlos wasn’t distracted. “Gone. For how long? I mean, were they all together? How did he get back, and they didn’t?”

Josie shook her head, not knowing how to break the news. “They weren’t together. That much I know. But, the family was told to leave, and they did, no questions asked. That’s for later, I know where your interests lie right now, dear.” She had raised her hand, and suddenly wanted to rip it off, like a bandage. This wasn’t pleasant conversation to be having on a Friday morning. 

“As for Cecil, he was gone for about...four and a half years, I’d say. People had given up hope. No one knew what else to do, the town is only so big, and it had been searched dozens upon dozens of times.”

Four years… “The re-education.”

Josie nodded her head, pursing her lips. Carlos continued, but tread cautiously. “Re-education, as far as I’ve seen it...Lasts less than a day, maybe a bit longer than that, but four years? What could they have…” He stopped. She knew what happened, after all, and like it or not, he was going to listen to every damn word. 

“I don’t consider it re-education. I consider it starting from scratch.” She gripped her mug, an ugly orange striped cat on the side, shaking her head. “I thought about that boy every day. They could have told us, Lord knew he had friends from school, and people were hurt. People mourned for him. Though, he came back, it was a miracle. And at the same time, he would have been better off dead.”

Carlos jerked his head up. “What?” He bit his lip. “Why do you say that? He’s fine now, he wouldn’t be bett--”

“You didn’t see it, smart-alec,” she said loudly, looking positively angered. “We all gave up. There was no voice, but people were more torn up over Cecil, that little bright-eyed boy, being gone. A tragedy. And when he came back, where do you think he came first?”

The scientist thought for a minute. He would say ‘His home’, but clearly, that hadn’t been a very kind place. “Here. He came to see you.”

Josie nodded, as if Carlos had answered a question right in class. “Yes, he came here. He knocked on that door, the same one that you knocked on, the same wood. And it was falling apart back then too, I’ve never gotten it fixed.” The splintered wood was an eyesore, but the Angels hadn’t gotten to tackling that particular chore just yet. 

“When he came back, was he…”

Josies voice became very soothing at that moment. Maybe it was because Carlos would need it to be that way--regardless of why, it put the dark skinned man into the most calm mood he could be in, before the storm hit. 

“Was he alright?” She finished for him, looking up into his eyes. Carlos nodded, wanting to know, needing to know. 

Josie was silent for a few minutes. Her eyes took on a shade that they not yet expressed since the first time Carlos had met her--dark, and seemingly on some emotional verge, either wanting to cry, or yell. 

“No,” she said quietly. “He was most certainly not alright. And he was not alright for years, after.”

His heart sank, as if the acid in his stomach was burning through it. 

The old woman gestured towards a closed door, down the long hallway that led to the other rooms. “That was his room,” she said gently, as she began to rock in her chair. “He stayed here the entire time he recovered. And it wasn’t so much physical, that could be healed. Time can heal those wounds, very easily, that we know.” She shook her head. “Those tattoos, those were new, and I’ll get to that. But mostly…”

Carlos hung on every word, desperate, needing more, needing to know how he could combat this. Needing to somehow feel like he had been present--to wish that he had been able to hold Cecil in his arms after four years of it…

Four years. What could have happened…?

God. 

“He was gone.”

Carlos looked at her quizzically. She elaborated unhappily, words coming from her that she wished she could take back, when she saw the scientists face fall. 

“Mentally. Gone. Broken into a thousand pieces. They did things to that boy that they will pay for in the afterlife, if things like them ever die.” She glanced at Carlos through teary eyes, tears that refused to fall. 

“I’ll have to first explain...Cecil wasn’t born a psychic, like his mother. He wasn’t born with the second sight. But he had the potential, and they saw that. Great potential. 

Do you know what happens to a person, when the second sight is forced upon them?”


	4. Let's Talk About Psychics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick as a dog, but promised I'd update quickly. So, it may be a little short.  
> But, there is much more back story to come. It's easier to split up the ideas into chapters, and I hope this reads well! I'm writing it in a fog of medication.

Carlos found himself staring at the old woman blankly, not even knowing how to start making sense of the question. The fact that a ‘second sight’ existed in the first place was hard to believe--of course, he knew it to be true, though his early childhood teachings were still at odds with it. He was a scientist, someone who prided himself on evidence, on visible truths. The very idea of mind-reading and seeing the future was more than extraordinary, and would be something he would turn his head at a few months ago. 

How times changed. 

With a hefty sigh, Josie started to formulate the simplest way to explain things. “Listen closely, because I won’t repeat any of this. I know you’re from the outside, you don’t know these things, so I’ll teach you plenty.” 

The scientist nodded, leaning forward, hands clasped together. 

“For explanations sake...Let’s say that both of your parents were scientists.” 

She didn’t ask if it was true or not--and it wasn’t, far from it--but Carlos nodded, more than willing to play along. 

“And let’s say that you were their only child. Statistically speakin’, what are the odds that you would grow up to be a scientist? Or, at the very least, a little smarter than the average kid?”

Carlos thought for a moment, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s highly likely, I’d say. Even without thinking of the future career of the child, they would probably grow up in an environment that would foster learning. And as scientists, the two parents would have high IQ’s--”

“Yes, yes, right,” Josie said with a wave of the hand, cutting him off, “Not the time to brag, dear.” 

He blushed, and nodded his head, letting her continue. 

“When Management, or whatever they want to call themselves, choose a Voice, they always choose one with...abilities. The sight,” she said, her voice strangely ominous. “At the time, the only one in the town that displayed the ability was Cecil’s mother. And they only ever pick males, don’t ask me why.” She rolled her eyes, mumbling under her breath “As if women aren’t good enough.”

Carlos cocked his head in thought, but didn’t want to interrupt. 

“Anyway, as far as I know, Cecils father didn’t have any special gifts. Sounds like he was a brute to me,” she said, leaning back and turning to look out the window. “The Voice they had at the time had a bit of life left in him, so they decided to spend ample time looking for a recruit. Cecil was so involved and interested, and his Mother had the gift--it only made sense that management took a likin’ to him.” She sighed. “But the logic was flawed.” 

Now, he spoke up. “Flawed? I thought that Station Management was some ‘all seeing’ being, the way Cecil talks about them.” 

Josie laughed, a loud biting sound, humorless. “I wouldn’t go that far at all. In this case,” she lowered her voice, “they screwed up just as bad as a person--or whatever they are--can.” 

He felt the cold chill coming back, terrifying, foreboding. 

“They assumed that because his Mother had the gift that he was predisposed to have it himself. And part of that thinking makes sense, yes it does,” Josie said, looking at Carlos with a scholarly gaze. “It is certainly in his genes. But not quite enough. Had his deadbeat father been psychic, we wouldn’t be even be sitting here having this conversation.” 

The hot cocoa was going cold, but she continued to sip it, perhaps needing to keep her grasp on her surroundings. 

“Cecil disappeared, and it was for re-education,” she reiterated, “but do you know how long it had taken for Voice before him to go through the same process?” 

Carlos was at a loss, and shook his head. 

The old woman leaned forward, as if about to tell a secret that meant life or death. “One week. It took one, single, lone week.” 

The pieces hadn’t fallen together yet. The scientist couldn’t, even with his brain which could calculate as quickly as his could, wasn’t capable of making sense of what he was hearing. Perhaps it was that he didn’t want to. Perhaps he wanted to imagine that Station Management wasn’t so cruel, that they would push things so far. 

“But...Why,” he began, eyes filled with pained confusion. Needing answers, like he needed air. 

“The Voice beforehand had come from two well adjusted psychics,” she said softly. “Cecil, on the other hand, came from just one--who was not well adjusted. And just because his mother was that way, did not mean that Cecil would be. The boy never said anything odd to me, never read a palm or gave a prophecy. He was a normal boy, with no such talents.” 

Carlos gulped. “So, how...they…”

Josie nodded, suddenly wanting to give the man in front of her a nice big hug to soften the blow. “For those four years, they made him exactly what they wanted him to be. They gave him the second sight, the Voice, and more,” she raised a hand, as if to say ‘we’ll get back to that’, “but that is no easy task. It will always be a miracle that he came back at all.” 

He sighed, running his hands over his face. Cecil probably knew that he was here right now, if he really were psychic. “What did they do…?”

Josie bit her lip, not knowing how this would be easy. “I hate to use all these hypotheticals, but I know that this is a little out of your comfort zone,” she said, managing a little smile. “Let’s just say...If humans really only used ten percent of our brains, than pushing someone to be psychic would be like forcing them to use all one hundred percent, plus a bit more. Psychics are often times not too stable people, on a good day...But when Cecil came back,” she paused, looking around for an idea of how to put it, “I was sure that he wasn’t going to recover.” 

The dark haired man had to bite his fist not to let anger get to him. Anger that anyone would knowingly…

“After a week, they should have given up,” Josie continued. “After one week, they certainly knew that it wasn’t the right fit. And instead, they kept at it for four years, until he was their perfect puppet, capable of the Sight, and feeling more than he could handle. Cecil can see everything in the town, which makes him a damn good reporter, but they gave him another gift that really broke the camels back.” 

Carlos didn’t know how much more he could take. 

“Empathy. You know the word, I take it?” 

Carlos nodded, looking at her with an empty gaze. ‘God, Cecil...’ 

“In these terms, it’s not just being able to feel someone elses pain or joy in the normal way, oh no. They made him very able to feel the emotions of those around him, as if they were his own.” 

His blood was running cold, he could swear it. 

“Sounds like a nice ability, one on one. But he couldn’t control it, can’t control it now, I don’t think, not all the way.” She didn’t know how to explain it, without going back. “When he first came back, he was gone. Real quiet. Wouldn’t move unless I led him by the hand, just real off. And then, about three days in, he started screamin’.” 

The scientist looked sick, and kept his gaze on her, afraid that if he looked away, he would lose the chance for more answers. 

“I looked him over, even though I had already bandaged him up the day he got here. None of the wounds were open, he didn’t have a fever, nothing. Couldn’t calm him down, couldn’t make sense of it.” She shakily put the cup on the wooden stand near the rocker. “It terrified me, because I loved that boy more than anything. And there he was, back home, only to be so…” She wanted to say hurt, but it wasn’t enough. 

“The next day, I heard that there was some ruckus down at the Library the night previous. Just around the time that he started screamin’.” She nodded her head, patting her knees. “That’s when it started to come together. Imagine, if every day, you were feeling a thousand peoples emotions all at once. He went from empty, to TOO animated. He’d bang on the table, just real angry, break my things and threaten me--and two seconds later, he’d pick me up and twirl me around, telling me that he was the happiest boy in the world. And then, a few seconds after that, he’d be on the floor sobbing, pulling his hair out, and looking for ways to hurt himself.” 

Carlos couldn’t take it. 

Words were lost. And she seemed to realize it. Reaching out a hand, she pat his knee, sweetly, like a grandmother would. 

“Cecil wasn’t meant to be put through that, no matter how much he wanted to be the Voice. Had he been prepared, had he possessed the Sight, it would have been a week of re-education, and a week of recovery. Instead, it was four years with them, followed by three and a half here, with me. I put that boy back together, so I’m glad you came to me.” She smiled, lips tight, gripping his knee tight. 

Carlo’s eyes had started to water, but he tried to wipe the tears away before they fell. “How did you…?” 

Josie laughed quietly. “A little forcefully, I’m afraid...But there was no way to get through to him otherwise. 

When he showed up, he was torn up. Bleedin’ plenty, shirt gone, pants torn real good. Management, they like to…” She wanted to leave this out, so it was best to skim over it for now, “break new recruits. And they broke him, alright, in every way. Took everything from him.” 

Carlos couldn’t delve into that statement yet--and Josie was glad that those details could stay vague for now. It might not be her place to tell. Not that any of this was, but Cecil wasn’t the type to open up. The floodgates needed to stay shut. 

“All he knew was force, back then. He would go for weeks without saying a single word, and then, after a while, he would start talking. On and on, sometimes I could understand, sometimes I couldn’t, different languages or gibberish, but even the parts I could understand didn’t make sense. But that was when I realized his voice had changed. He really sounded like he fit the part, but...maybe Management didn’t realize just how much healing time it would take. It’s a miracle that he can function now, but I think that in the present, a certain handsome scientist has something to do with keeping him grounded.” 

Carlos had his head in his hands, and shook his head, feeling as though all the energy had been sucked out of him. How could have been in the dark about so much? Not that he could have guessed any of this, but, why…

“One day, he was having one of those fits, back and forth, the poor thing was just overwhelmed by emotions, constantly. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, he was just in a spiral, and it wasn’t helping his mind at all.” Josie stood up, stretching, joints aching a little from sitting too long. Wandering over to the window, she surveyed the expansive desert to the east. “So, one day, I slapped him as hard as I could.” 

Carlos looked up, wondering if he had misheard. “You...what?” 

“You heard me. I slapped him, and I grabbed him by the chin, and I forced him to look right at me.” She turned back to Carlos, looking stern. “And I said ‘I know you remember me, because you found your way back here. And I know everything in your head is all mixed up, and I know you’re seein’ too much, and feelin’ too much, and it’s hard. I know it hurts. But right now, I need you to think about all you’re feeling. And I need you to pick ONE emotion, and STICK WITH IT.’”

The scientist looked at her with wide eyes, feeling a kind of appreciation and respect for the old woman that he never expected before this day. 

Thank the Gods she had been there. 

“I told him that I knew the emotions wouldn’t stop, he’d always feel ‘em. He feels ‘em today, I know he does, and it’s tough. It’s hard to control yourself, when what YOU feel is getting buried beneath a ton of other thoughts and feelings, it’s maddening. But I told him to do his best to stick with one, and he had a lot of setbacks. It couldn’t happen over night. But I think you know what he picked.” 

Carlos was silent for a few moments, before he found his voice, small and timid. 

“Happiness.” 

Old Woman Josie smiled and nodded her head, relief on her features. “He picked a good one. That just might be the best feeling, after all.” 

The scientist realized that tears had started to fall, unlike him, the always cool and collect intellectual, not swayed by emotion. Though, of course, things started to change when you fell in love, of course they did--and he could admit that it was love, that he had for Cecil. He questioned now, Cecil’s insistence that he was fine, that he was in control, that he was healthy. But he didn’t question what they had; that was something that couldn’t be broken. 

"He tries to keep that happy face on, as much as he can. You make him happy, of course, I know you do. But I think he's still afraid that if he trips up, he'll get stuck in that nasty cycle again. It's hard to get out of, for him. Hard not to be overwhelmed."

Realizing that the old woman was handing him a box of tissues, he nodded in thanks, glancing at her in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually…” 

“I understand, dear. I know how it feels, I cared for him, day in and day out. And even though I had no children of my own, he was always the closest to a son I’ll ever have.” She smiled, sitting gently on the couch next to him. “I’ve cried plenty over Cecil, that’s for sure. And there are things I haven’t told you, plenty of things. But I think, maybe, you can ask him. He may not tell you, he may tell you after a while, or he may blab everything at once. And if you’re curious enough, you can always come ask me--though, I can’t promise to reveal certain things that I know he’d want secret.” 

Carlos was brimming with even more overwhelming curiosity, but at the same time, it had been heavy for one day. It wasn’t at all what he was expecting to hear, something so huge and overwhelming, something so upsetting that he didn’t know how he was going to approach Cecil about it. 

Cecil had been hurt that badly, Cecil had gone...insane…? 

Did he still feel the emotions so strong?

Was it hard to stay focused?

Was he in pain, when Carlos touched him?

Did it bring memories back, did it frighten him? 

How had he kept it hidden? 

Cecil would know…”He’ll know I was here.” 

“Yes, he will,” Josie said softly, “and he won’t mind. Cecil loves you more than anything, dear, that much I know. He’ll understand why you came to me. You’re worried, I would be too. Heck, I am worried.” 

She paused for a moment, sighing in frustration. 

“Before you go...There is a little more. I just realized, you may not know about the tattoos.”


	5. Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter needs to be edited a bit, and is really just a reason to leave you on a bit of a cliffhanger...My deepest apologies!

At some point in the discussion, they had migrated to the kitchen, to sit at the small, cozy antique wooden table in the center of the room. It was an old room, the appliances badly outdated, but clean, cookie jar in the shape of a Florida orange on the counter being the focal point of the room. It begged the question, had Old Woman Josie been to Florida? Or, had there been a sale on American state produce influenced specialty cookie jars on QVC? 

Carlos wasn’t sure why he was focusing on that, but it was probably because his mind needed a break from the things he was being told. 

It had been an unspoken agreement to let things settle, to relax for a brief time, and the old woman had brought out some sliced fruit, placing it on the table, and pushing it towards the scientist, but he had politely declined. Even something as gentle on the stomach as fruit was not sounding appealing at the moment, and he wondered very seriously when his appetite would return. 

And they weren’t even done here. He knew that there was more to be said, to be explained, and he wished that it could be over and done with. 

It was too much to take. And this was just from his perspective--if it was this hard to hear, how did it feel? 

And how hard had the radio host worked to keep it from him? To keep him in this comforting bubble, to keep him oblivious to the parts of this town that weren’t simply strange, or scientifically interesting--but evil, cruel, tyrannical? 

Was he afraid Carlos would leave? Was he forbidden to talk? Kept silent, by the monsters who had done this to him in the first place? 

He knew he would find out, whether he wanted to or not. 

Josie popped another grape into her mouth as she looked at the scientist with something akin to growing pity. There was no way that Cecil had even begun to tell this story, she could tell that by the way Carlos was looking so lost and defeated. She also knew this, because Cecil was the kind to not let this run his relationship. He didn’t like to be ‘taken care of’--because he had learned early that many people didn’t want that responsibility. 

Some men wanted a normal relationship. And a relationship with Cecil would never be normal. 

It made Josie want to smack a certain jerk upside the head with her rolling pin. 

‘’Your head’s spinnin’,” she muttered, looking down at the floor and remembering that she needed to clean it. “I’m sorry, to have to--”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Carlos said quietly, running a hand through his now-dry black hair. “I’m the one who came here, looking for...something. I guess I didn’t know that you would…” He trailed off. He had no idea that Josie had been ‘family’ to Cecil, or had been the one closest to the center of it all--he had expected her to have some vague recollection, at best. 

That’s why this was so hard to stomach, perhaps. He wasn’t ready. But when could he be ready to learn that his boyfriend had been forced through years and years of mental and physical torture and had lost his mind, only to have it rebuilt, and now was at risk of it all happening again?

“Why,” he wet his lips, “why every ten years? Why do they have to do it again, if he already has the powers they want?” It seemed to him that it was not needed, just some kind of sick game for...whatever it was hid behind that door in the station. 

Josie shook her head. “I don’t know the exact reasoning, dear, but I do have a rough idea. I see how things work around here, after living here as long as I have.” She leaned back in the wooden chair, glancing around--as if she heard something--but quickly shrugged it off. “Re-education usually means that you’ve done something the bigwigs don’t like, and they want to teach you your place. But, I think we’d both agree that Cecil is a pretty stand-up member of our little community here.”

Carlos nodded. No one loved Night Vale more than Cecil...though, he was starting to wonder if the blonde man really loved it, or if he was being forced to love it. Carlos knew that if it were him, he would loathe this place with all of his soul, if it had destroyed so much of him. 

Then again, it was hard to imagine. Hard to put himself in the shoes of someone who had...lost their mind. 

He shuddered. 

“This is nothing but a test,” she said, matter of factly. “Maybe that isn’t what you want to hear, but now you know. I’d take the next week off, maybe two weeks. Maybe a month. I don’t know how long they will push this, but they won’t go easy on him.”

Carlos looked up, brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I don’t--”

“I mean,” she said forcefully, “Cecil won’t go off to be retrained. You know he won’t. Not just because the boy doesn’t want to die--because I have no doubt he couldn’t survive it a second time--but because of you.” She leaned forward, hands on the tabletop. “He won’t go, that’s established. But you think that those devils will just accept that, and let him off the hook?”

He shook his head wordlessly, knowing this wasn’t going to be simple. 

“They have influence on him. They aren’t pushovers, and in the end, there is nothing you can do against them. They are too old, and they aren’t going anywhere.” The words were tinted with finality, and Carlos wanted badly to curse. “They broke that boy into pieces, and when he got back, he didn’t look quite the same as he did before. He had some...additions.”

Carlos knew Cecil’s body better than anyone, perhaps. He had mapped it out a dozen times, kissed nearly every inch, refuted Cecil’s claims that he was perfect, with his own claims that the blonde haired man had no imperfections.

And to Carlos, he truly didn’t. 

Not even knowing what he knew now. Cecil was perfect, and that was not up for debate. Not in his eyes. Perfect to him, that was what mattered, anyway. 

“The tattoos,” he said softly, and it wasn’t a question. She nodded her head, taking a mandarin orange slice and popping it in her mouth. “Cecil is a mild mannered boy who has lived in this town his entire life. Does he seem the type to have tattoos, really?” She smiled a little bit at the absurd thought. “I suppose they suit him now, after so long. He wouldn’t look right without ‘em, but they weren’t his idea. Not at all. They came with the...gifts.” She stumbled over the word, and Carlos knew why. 

They weren’t gifts. They were incredible powers, something many would want the opportunity to have. But no, they weren’t meant for his Cecil, they hadn’t been. 

They were a curse. 

The winding serpents, ever-seeing eyes embedded on Cecil’s pale flesh had always seemed to Carlos something so intrinsically part of him. But truly thinking about the host, no part of him seemed the type to gravitate towards tattoos. Come to think of it, he didn’t like cooking because he was afraid that he would be too clumsy, and cut himself with a knife while cutting vegetables. 

And he was supposed to believe that the same man would take needles all over his skin, over his arms, back and chest?

Well, Carlos had been damn blind, it would seem. A scientist asked questions of everything--but he hadn’t even thought to ask questions of Cecil, really. They went unanswered, but beyond that, love was uncaring of circumstance. Love was blind, they say. 

But now he could see. 

“They want to make sure that he is being a good little slave,” Josie said, a groan, as she stood up and went to peer out the window. The sun was high in the sky, blazing hot, and she was glad to have the powerful air conditioning that she did. Best not to leave the house--she much preferred the rain. “This will test his resolve. Why they feel they need to do this, when Cecil is so...well adjusted, after what happened before, I don’t know. Maybe they don’t think he can handle stress well enough.” She let out a little snort, gripping the counter on either side of the sink to steady herself. 

Carlos wanted nothing more than to head down to the station and pound on the door, perhaps let the anger come through, or, more likely in this instance, to get on his knees and beg. 

The worst part was, he didn’t know what to expect. 

"Doin' all those experiments is probably hard on you, long days at the labratory," she said, not really knowing what he studied, but knowing that work in any capacity was tough. "I'm sure you like to come home and take a load off, relax and let your mind go blank. I know I love to do that, to unwind." Her eyes went distant, sad, at a realization that she had come to years ago, but had been unable to put into words. "Cecil doesn't have that choice. He can't turn it off, like a television at full volume in your head, with no mute. Everyones words, thoughts, feelings, what will happen tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, it's constant. And he has had to learn how to live normally, while all of that is happening in that head of his." 

Carlos couldn't take it. He clentched his eyes shut, shaking his head, trying to think of any point in which he may have been able to tell. But Josie could tell what he was doing, and banged her hand on the table. 

"Don't you go thinkin' about the 'What if's'. If Cecil doesn't want you to know, you don't know. And to him, you're the whole world, dear. I'm sure movin' here has been hard on you, and he knew that too. His life is anything but easy, but I have no doubts that you have made it bearable. More than bearable, I'm sure you make him truly happy." 

Something struck her out of the blue, and she looked up in a panic.

“Did you ask him about his brother?” 

The question was hard, stern, with a lining of fear and uncertainty. Carlos looked up, almost afraid to admit it. 

“Well, after what happened on air...When he got home that night, I did ask. He said that he didn’t remember anything, and I didn’t push the issue.” Of course, Carlos knew when something didn’t need to be pushed. If Cecil didn’t remember, he didn’t remember. 

“Don’t do it again.” The old woman came closer to him, and for a moment, he was afraid that he was about to get hit. “Do not, under any circumstances, bring him up. It’s the quickest way to break that boy in two.” Undoubtedly, he could see tears starting to grow in the normally calm womans eyes, and he froze. 

Carlos looked at her with confusion, wanting to ask what she meant, but in that moment, it didn’t look like she wanted to give details. 

How far down did the rabbit hole stretch?

“I won’t,” he said, voice small, feeling that she needed to hear it out loud. Nodding, she kept her eyes on his for a few seconds, a threat. There was part of him that wanted to scream at her, get every last detail, because this wasn’t just anyone. This was Cecil, someone who had quickly become his world, the one feeling that was real and made sense in this desert. 

Cecil. 

“Though I really don’t like bringin’ all this up,” she said softly, turning to look out the window again, “I am glad that you came.”

The caramel skinned man shook his head, smiling sadly, brow furrowed in consternation. “I’m...glad myself. Well, not glad, but,” he stumbled over his words, too many emotions building up at once, “I don’t like hearing any of this, of course I don’t. I didn’t expect it, I didn’t know what to expect, but...I’m lucky that I came to the right person. I just thought that because you were the oldest one in town, you’d remember something. I didn’t know that you were…”

The old woman laughed a friendly laugh, wrinkled face once again welcoming and kind, as was the usual. “We are family now.” She wondered vacantly when the angels would return with the rhubarb. “Cecil has had his own apartment for a few years now, but he still came every night for dinner. That is, until you two finally decided to get serious.”

Carlos opened his mouth to apologize, blush on his face, but Josie shook her head and raised a palm at him. “Don’t you dare, I was pleased as punch. Heck, I am pleased as punch!” Walking over, she reached out to grip his hands tightly, her own cold from lack of circulation, but soft. “I love him dearly, and I always will. And I’ll always want to take care of him, and keep him safe, but...I can only do so much as an old lady.” She leaned up and kissed Carlos on the cheek, before reaching up to press her palm to it. “He has needed someone for a long time. And it was like you fell from the sky, and were meant for him. Now, I don’t believe much in fate, the angels tell me it’s a lie, but in this case, well, I don’t know what else to call it.”

He wanted to cry. Wanted to say that he wasn’t something amazing, that it had been wholly unexpected. That he had come here to study, and yet, lately, Cecil had become such a part of his life, that he could almost look past the clocks that shouldn’t be ticking. 

Almost.

“To be honest,” he began, hesitantly, “When I came here, I was...overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to investigate first, I couldn’t make heads or tails of anything, and then, hearing him on the radio, talking about me the way he was, I…” he paused, stifling a laugh, “I thought ‘Who is this maniac?’’ 

Josie laughed outright, nodding her head. ‘’He’s...overzealous about you, I’ll give you that much! Love at first sight, I think.’’ A glint in her eye, she looked at him with a small knowing smile. “He came over for dinner right after you arrived, right after he saw you, and he went on and on.” In an effort to protect Cecil’s pride, she left the rest to the imagination--but there had been arm waving, and the boys face had turned red as a cherry. 

It was nice, to talk about this with someone. Even the woman who claimed that the Angels appeared to her…

He wondered if they were listening. 

But there was no shaking off what he had heard, so simply. Sleep wouldn’t find him this night, and food wouldn’t go down easily. 

His face dropped. “How long will it last? How long will he have to…”

The woman shook her head, forcing her lips into a smile, wishing she had a better answer. “I don’t know, dear. I just don’t know.” She took a seat again, hands clasped in her lap. “It could be a day, a week, a month, or maybe they won’t let up until he decides to do as they ask.”

Carlos’s face emptied of blood, it felt like, and he put his head in his hands, heavily. 

“I can’t handle the...not knowing,” he said quietly, breath hot against his palms. “Does he know? If he can see--”

“He can see just about everything. But not his own future.” She knew that better than anyone. “It’s like being on the opposite side of a video camera, being the one filming and not the one being filmed. It’s why he didn’t know that you were coming, and why some things still stay a little mysterious. If he’s involved directly, he has trouble makin’ it out.”

He nodded vacantly--but jumped as he heard a knock on the door, four hard knocks in a row. The Secret Police? Had he been asking too many questions? Had he--

“It’s open!” Josie yelled, not moving to get up. She didn’t seem worried, which bothered him, but--

The sound of the door opening and closing, and footsteps, quick and light, and--

How could he recognize footsteps, really? 

Cecil. 

Looking up, wide eyed, he saw the blonde headed reporter in the doorway, dressed as usual, his dark vest, dark purple tie, sleeves tied elegantly, looking as though nothing bad was happening. Worry was gone from his face, though Carlos wondered--when he was alone, did he let the panic shine through? 

“I decided to take a...sick day.” He said shortly, perhaps ignoring how strange it sounded for those words to come from his mouth.

Josie looked up at him, with a gaze that was reminiscent of a parent, watching their child walk towards a trap, to teach them a painful lesson. Hefting herself out of her chair, she wandered over to him slowly, reaching out for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’m glad you came.”

Cecil nodded, gaze ever-sweet and admiring. “I'm sorry I haven’t visited enough.” Looking over for his brave scientist, he couldn't help the love that filled his gaze, the overwhelming emotions fighting to break free. Sadness, fear, overwhelming panic, all dancing behind the lavender orbs.

“Carlos...Forgive me."


	6. No Takebacks

Many circumstances had occurred, and many paths, seeming as though they would never cross, had aligned to bring them to this point. A scientist, who had grown up in a normal, middle class family, whose parents had done all they could to put him through school, to help him achieve his dream of studying the odd and unknown, discovering the mysteries of this planet, on which so many call home. All human beings, and yet, there were things yet unexplained, and he had always looked up to those men and women who could shake the foundation of understanding with their discoveries. 

And while he had been hiding in a fort made of blankets, pouring over scientific textbooks and dreaming of the day when he could finally travel beyond the borders of his tight knit spanish community, Cecil had been living a life both very similar, and very different. 

He had dreams to, to be on the radio. And in any other town in the country, it seemed that it would be simple enough. His fate wouldn’t have been embedded in stone, and the steps involved in achieving that dream would be far less dire. 

Two people could be no more unlikely to meet, all the way across the country, being shaped by experiences outside the range of control. And two people could not be more unlikely to fall in love, as hard and fast as Cecil and Carlos. 

Of course, Cecil had always been vocal about it. Love at first sight...for someone who didn’t want love, it was what had shaken him to his core, made him believe that anything was possible. 

That he could be stronger. That he might be able to make it through, if Carlos were with him. As unlikely as that would be. 

And yet, here they were. One almost unable to function without the other. Unlikely, and imperfect. 

Carlos had still been unable to stand up, his legs failing him, as he watched the old woman scurry over to the kettle to make ‘Cecil’s favorite lavender tea’, and the smile that he had shown her when she had offered it. The way that Cecil leaned against the counter arms crossed across his chest, perpetual interest and curiosity in his eyes, kindness and passion. As if nothing had changed, just another Friday afternoon, the sun heating the sands and not a cloud in the sky. 

Everything was the same. And too different to recognize. 

The way that Cecil’s purple eyes seemed to have another layer, that he had been blind to before--only there now, because he knew what to look for. Even from across the room, he could see things; a subtle crease in his brow, just for a moment, the way he would purse his lips, insequential, but meaning so much. 

The weight, crushing him. And Carlos had not known a thing. 

This was what guilt felt like, in terms that he wish he did not know so intimately. 

Cecil was talking kindly to Josie, complimenting her petunias in the front windowsill, and asking things about how she maintained them, about how the purple color certainly complimented the arid desert. Carlos agreed--Cecil looked right here as well, as if he didn’t belong anywhere else, as if he simply would stand out anywhere else he traveled. 

And he was stuck here, wasn’t he? They wouldn’t let him leave. Gods forbid they tried. Run away from it all, and leave it all behind, for his sake. Carlos would make it happen, would buy them an apartment in Maine, and just pretend that this was all a bad dream. 

Forget the science of this place, anything would become reality if Cecil needed it to be. 

But Cecil wouldn’t leave. Carlos knew that without even giving it another millisecond of thought. Whether he was personally attached, or they were keeping him here against his will, it was hard to tell. That smile, smile that always cheered him up after a fourteen hour day at the lab…

God, he hoped it was real around him. He could believe it was. He had to believe it was. 

He wasn’t angry. He didn’t know what he was. 

Scared to death of a fate that wasn’t his. 

The kettle whistled, the water finished boiling, the high pitched whine enough to snap him out of his own thoughts, realizing that he had been staring at Cecil the whole time. It made him feel horrible--yes, he had been caught staring at the man more than once, reveling in the fact that they were spending their lives together, enamored by his pale skin and his gentle aura. But now, the stare was mixed with something else, something dark, knowing things that he didn’t before. 

Like staring at an animal in a cage. Night Vale was Cecil’s cage, wasn’t it? And what was happening in his head, the overwhelming knowledge, the way every single person in the viscinity was feeling, was his ‘gift’ for being a good member of their society. 

Disgusting. 

Gazing at the man, now with an apologetic look, he was surprised and taken off guard when Cecil raised a hand, as if to say ‘Don’t.’ 

Could he see into his head? Did he know what he was thinking, what he knew? Of course he did, it’s why he had come over, wasn’t it? 

Oh, God.

“It’s been so long since you had a cup of tea with me. Do you still take it with three sugars? Milk?”

Cecil smiled. “Yes, and yes. I try to cut back on the sugar intake, but I find that without it, the tea tastes a little...unfriendly.”

The old woman plopped the sugar cubes into the purple mug, Cecils mug, one that she had bought years and years ago for him, the paint starting to fade and chip away. Stirring it with a spoon, adding the milk, she eyed him curiously. “A day off, huh? Might have been better if you stuck it out,” she muttered, not knowing the details, but knowing she would need to pull them out, like extracting rotted teeth. 

Taking the tea, Cecil paused briefly, as if not realizing the conversation would go that way. 

Ridiculous, of course it would, where else would it go? 

But things were too heavy now, things were spinning, things were too heavy, things were real, Carlos knew, Carlos knew everything, too much, too many, he could feel it, coursing through his mind, down to the tips of his fingers, down to his feet, being pulled in every direction, confusion, anger, hurt, the desire to help, there was no help, would never be help, the children down the street were so happy playing, station management was ANGRY, the entire building shaking with it, interns were afraid, afraid for their lives, and Josie was afraid, strong Josie, he couldn’t decide to laugh, or cry, or scream, or yell, so many things happening next week, God, why was Carlos so UPSET, he didn’t NEED to be upset--

He smiled calmly. 

“It seemed like the best thing at the time. But, there is nothing that cannot wait until Monday, that I am aware of.” It went unsaid, of course, that he was aware of everything. 

Josie didn’t have the heart to speak up, to say that Monday, he would probably still be out of commission. Carlos didn’t even want to think that far ahead.

In this moment when they weren’t yet alone, in relation to the stressful events that were about to unfold, Cecils calmness was not welcomed, for once. 

It was terrifying. It was wrong. 

But Carlos understood. He understood a tiny fraction of things. He was a scientist after all--he was good at making hypothesis, and figuring things out. 

“Delicious tea, as usual.” The blonde closed his eyes, holding the cup to his nose, inhaling the lavender scent, something that was calming, sometimes enough to lull him to sleep. There was no time for that now, as much as he wished for it, though it was a gesture that was not lost on him. Josie knew, she knew what worked and what didn’t. Her life taking care of him when he couldn’t take care of himself had been primarily trial and error; and the guilt still ate away at him, sometimes. 

How he had been so foolish. Hopeless, weak. 

She was a saint, perhaps. And that must be why the Angels appeared to her. 

He felt a jolt run over his skin, electric and slightly painful, as he thought about them, creatures that “didn’t exist.” He banished the thought, before they got more angry. 

And that image of Cecil, tall and thin, long fingers wrapped around the warm cup, it looked so innocent. It made Carlos smile, despite everything, and it made him wanted to kiss Cecil’s cheek, and tell him that it would be over soon. 

He could say the words.

“As much as I’d love to just leisurely spend the afternoon drinking tea with you two,” Josie said stretching, voice strained, “I don’t think we’re in any position to be actin’ like everything is okey dokey. I don’t think we’ve got the time.” She eyed Cecil sternly, and Carlos felt as though the bubble being popped was more painful than he expected. He kept his eyes on Cecil, leaning forward in his chair, arm draped over the table, as if expecting the worst to happen. For the blonde to react badly, something he had never truly seen. 

The way the broadcaster cast his eyes down, as if the strength were slowly being drained from his posture, made Carlos’s heart skip a beat. It hurt, more than he knew a simple display of emotion could, subtle, but connecting to him through their wavelength. 

Turning to set his cup down, and planting his hands flat on the pale white countertop, Cecil lowered his head, and let out a deep sigh, and Carlos could see the stress through his vest, the way that from the back, his hair was a bit messier than usual, and then realized that he had never seen Cecil standing that way. He had never seen it, and he realized that he liked it that way. 

It didn’t suit him. But it was him. Conflicting ideas, the image of Cecil that he held yesterday, and the one that he knew too well now, didn’t suit one another. 

But they were both perfect. 

“I know,” came his soft voice, unlike his radio persona, more tired and ragged, haunting, in so few syllables uttered. “But I would much rather drink tea and have a nice chat.” 

Josie smiled softly, reaching out and rubbing Cecils back, like a parent. “I bet you would. I would like that too. And when this is all over, you two are welcome to come over, and I’ll cook you a nice meal, and make all the lavender tea you can drink.” A rather coy look came over her aged features. “After all, I need to really get the skinny on you two. You’re perfect together, you’ve got a keeper here. Smart and handsome, and you were too right about the hair!” Glancing over at Carlos, she winked, and he felt himself blush and shake his head, looking away, not knowing how to take something like that from a woman who seemed to be older than the town. 

Cecil laughed softly, and it almost sounded right. “Well, he is certainly perfect. I can’t say the same about myself.” Turning, straightening himself out, he gazed at Carlos with the same reverence, the same love, something that, no matter what mental onslaught or war they may be in the midst of, could not fade, could not be altered. 

“My brave Carlos,” he said quietly, shaking his head with a somber smile on his lips. “Forgive me.” He repeated the words, somewhat hesitantly, that Carlos had yet to respond to, and for a moment, the kitchen remained silent, 

until it wasn’t. 

“Don’t,” Carlos said, shortly. It could have been interpreted to outsiders as a rough utterance, perhaps cross, but as the scientist stood and walked towards the other man, it was clear that the assumption was wrong. 

Not stopping until he could feel the heat from Cecils body, he leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on the corner of his lips. Cecil kept his eyes open, looking on the other with some confusion, a plea for explanation, for some form of hate. After all, he had hidden so much, everything, about who he was, what had made him who he was, based on lies--

“Don’t apologize for this.” Carlos reached down and gripped Cecils hand tightly, pulling it towards him needing something to keep him from spilling everything he wanted to express. 

They weren’t alone yet, and a scientist shouldn’t simply collapse into a nonsensical emotional babble. 

“I never want to keep anything from you,” Cecil said softly, pressing his forehead against Carlos’s, closing his eyes. “I was...afraid, I was--”

“Don’t worry about that now,” the scientist said softly, leaning forward to place a quick peck on the other lips, gazing at him with nothing but acceptance. If they wanted to discuss honesty, that was fine--when things weren’t so tense. And besides, it wasn’t that he was worried. 

Cecil was open about his love. He had never been deceitful in any other sense. And from hearing what had happened, he imagined that he man was worried about his reaction. 

He wanted to prove to Cecil that there was nothing to worry about. That was the best way to handle things, for now. 

A shaky, relieved sigh escaped the broadcasters lips, and his boundless amethyst gaze swept Carlos away, knowing that he had chosen the right option. What would accusations do? Was he truly going to get upset over this, when Cecil was going through something so much worse, so much more difficult to handle? 

He wasn’t going to push Cecil away. Not now, of all times. 

The scientist brought his lips to his boyfriend's ear, whispering softly, lips brushing against the sensitive skin. “We’ll get through this.” Squeezing Cecil’s hand again, he put a smile on his face, mimicking the countless times that Cecil must do the same. It was difficult. But then again, anything worth having often times involved an uphill battle. 

Josie spoke up, unceremoniously, not being someone who was too skilled in the art of subtlety when needed. “When do you expect them to start throwing a hissy-fit?”

Cecil noticably flinched, as if thinking about it was painful. And of course, it would be. They were the ones who broke him before. And here they were, about to attempt the same. 

A living nightmare. 

“Tonight,” he said softly, the ever present smile still trying to make an appearance. “The letter told me to report at ten o'clock for preparation. When I don’t show up, I imagine…” He trailed off, eyes gazing off into nothing. 

Josie nodded, and looked up, heart heavy. There were things she wanted, yes, but nothing she would ask for. “Things are very different this time,” she said gently, and she gazed at Carlos with a similar amount of fondness. “I would help you, and I will help you, if you need it. If things get out of control, and you’re at your wits end, you both come here, and I’ll do what I can do. But if it doesn’t come to that, if you can handle it…” She stopped, knowing that she was scaring the scientist by the pallor of his face. He didn’t know what to expect, of course he didn’t. But there was no easing anyone into this. 

Then again, this time may not be quite as bad. She would hold out that hope for as damn long as she pleased. 

“I think that you two should get home,” she said, reaching up to put a hand on each other their arms, smile tight and tough, all she could offer. “Enjoy each others company. Rest. Do anything but think about bad things, they will come soon enough. But you’ll be fine, you know they aren’t shooting to kill.” She looked at Cecil sternly, knowing that if she didn’t put a little force behind her words, he may crumble. 

He nodded gently, glancing at Carlos to make sure that he understood as well. “I know. There is no replacement. This is simply a...reminder.”

Josie nodded. “That’s right. And what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. And luckily, this time, you have someone to fight for, and he is a charmer.” She clutched Carlos’s forearm, shaking it, needing him present. 

He would have to be stronger than ever before. And he would be. She could tell. 

Carlos was thankful, for a great many things at that moment. “Thank you,” he said to the old woman, encompassing in the words everything, mostly for telling a tale that must have pained her to recount, in enough detail to drive the points home. 

Shaking her head, she began to push them towards the living room, towards the door. “You don’t need to spend time with this old woman. I want you two to go relax, you hear me?” 

Cecil stumbled, looking at that moment like a strong wind could knock him over, but he chuckled under his breath. “Yes, ma’am, I think...we can do that.”

As they made it to the front door, Carlos glanced at the top of the radio tower, wishing suddenly that they were further from it. It sounded to him as though proximity didn’t matter, but either way, knowing that the being that was about to harm his lover was inside that building, knowing that there was nothing he could do but watch--

“Carlos?”

Cecil snapped him out of it, walking down the front steps, noticing where his eyes were attracted. He shook his head, repeating the mans words from earlier. 

“We’ll get through this.” It didn’t sound as powerful coming from him, he who knew what to expect somewhat, but it was meaningful just the same. 

Josie stood in the doorway as the two began to walk to Carlos’s now hot car, the man opening the door to aerate it as much as he could for the short drive. 

“Cecil, you listen to me,” she said, pointing at him, accusing. “You give ‘em hell! This isn’t a repeat, this is a new episode. And you’ve got all the control in the world.” Her gaze shifted to Carlos, and he found it in himself to nod, with some measure of self belief. 

He could help. He had to help. Had to do anything and everything. 

Cecil only smiled, regarding the woman as family, his oldest family, and for a long time, before Carlos, his only family. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you,” He put a hand over his heart. “I’ll...do my best. I promise.”

“I have no doubt,” she said, and this time, her voice was full of a deep woe, shaking, and Cecil had to get into the car to avoid the onslaught of emotion, though it didn’t truly help. A deep breath later, he smiled, waving to her through the slightly sand covered window.

Realizing, as she usually did, she sighed. “I’m sorry! Happy thoughts, it’ll be fine!” Waving a hand, she got rid of the tears, thinking of puppies and bunny rabbits, anything but the sadness. Cecil couldn’t handle the sadness now, and she was one of the few who KNEW how important it was to control emotion. 

Carlos realized what was happening, and got into the car as well, turning on the air conditioning, and closing his door with a resounding thud. 

The silence that descended for a moment was uncomfortable. But Carlos knew how to break it well enough. 

“Cecil?”

The blonde looked over, curiously, worried that the onslaught was coming, and yet, he could tell that it wasn’t. There was no hate, or malice, or anger. No intention of holding his omissions, or lies, over him, no worry that he would lie again. Everything was in the open now, and there was no putting a lid on it this time. 

Carlos remembered how it was the first time. He wondered if Cecil would too. 

Leaning over the seat, he pressed his lips gently to the others, something that was barely a kiss at all, rather, a promise of a proper kiss to come. It was how he had sealed their fate the first time, and he remembered the blush that settled on Cecils cheeks, when he had pulled away. 

Nothing had changed. That love and worship still in his eyes, or the smile that graced his pale lips, at finally having his dream come true--the ‘dashing scientist’ giving in to his affections. 

They had always been mutual.

“Let’s go home,” he said softly, as he pulled away, prepared for anything that was to come. It was a rebirth, perhaps, of their relationship--this time, with nothing left out.


	7. October 26, Friday, 3:32PM

Carlos had plenty of memories, like any usual human being. Inconsequential memories, side by side with life changing hurdles being overcome. The big memories, you know. His first day of school. Birthdays. Graduation, from high school and university. His grandmother's funeral. His first job. 

Moving to Night Vale. 

It seemed likely that whatever would happen, beginning that night, would become ingrained in his memory as well, a sequence of horrible events that he would want to forget. However, it hadn’t seemed likely that the hours leading up to that could have been as meaningful and life-altering as they had turned out to be. 

It was October the twenty sixth. A Friday. And when they had pulled back into the driveway of the apartment complex, the time had been 3:32PM. Perhaps almost 3:33, but he would always remember those numbers. 3:32. 

The house had been chilly when they stepped inside. Carlos realized that he had forgotten to turn off the air conditioning that morning, before rushing off. There had been too many things on his mind, too many questions that needed answering; and now, so many hours later, they had been answered, and then some. And he found himself wishing he would have stayed in bed. 

He wanted to be of use. When you fell in love, as hard as he had, there was nothing you couldn’t face. Or, more accurate, nothing you wouldn’t face. 

You found yourself thinking about them, at all moments, being reminded of them by the smallest occurrence. The clink of a glass, reminding him of their breakfast together. The white noise of a nearby radio or television, reminding him that soon, he would be able to hear that voice. That voice, that felt so much like being wrapped in blankets, keeping warm inside out of a cold snow. 

It was a voice that he had not grown into. It was a voice that had been given to him, along with soul-scarring trauma that he knew he couldn’t fix. 

But he could heal it. He would heal it. Come Hell or high water, he would not be made to do nothing. 

Cecil had taken off his vest, hanging it over the wooden chair, folding it too carefully. Everything could be made a distraction now, putting off the inevitable. 

As if taking things slow could actually slow down time. It sounded so...Night Valean. 

As if it really could happen. Carlos wished. 

His white dress shirts were usually sharp and tidy, worn with pride, always hung up immediately after drying and ironed. But today, Carlos saw that the back was wrinkled, unpressed, not tended to with the proper care. It was a thing that outsiders would not notice about their beloved Voice. He looked as he always did, the same rich blonde hair, mussed atop his head, the same amethyst gaze, the same pale, delicate skin. His voice was still very capable of producing those soothing tones, his body still held the same hypnotic sway, 

But everything was off. Everything was wrong. Just slightly, as a crooked picture hanging on a twisted nail.

Cecil wasn’t in his right place. Not now. Not in his head. 

Hindsight was twenty/twenty, the saying told him, and it was true. His brain, good at putting pieces together, was now putting their daily life under a microscope. Things made more sense, and the things that made sense were the things that stung, his naivety something that would be shed. 

Taking off his lab coat, he hung it up, on a hook on the back of the pale white bedroom door. Coming back into the kitchen, he was met with Cecil’s gaze, and found that it was impossible to break free. It was questioning, somehow frightened, afraid that he had hidden too much, and had put their relationship in jeopardy. Every human had secrets, and perhaps he felt that his were too numerous. 

Afraid that trust could not be rebuilt, afraid of abandonment. 

And Carlos felt sick. On top of everything else to be terrified of, in this moment, Cecil was afraid that he would walk out the door, surrendering their life together, because of what had happened years ago, and his inability, or aversion, to discuss it. 

No. No, he wouldn’t let Cecil be afraid, not of that. Never of that, there was no reason for him to turn his back. Cecil wouldn’t be punished for this. He didn’t deserve to be punished for trying to keep the both of them safe. In different ways, perhaps, but that was why he hadn’t spoken. How would he had begun? 

Walking forward, he could only raise a warm hand, palm against Cecil’s cheek, pressing their foreheads together. He watched as Cecils eyes fluttered closed, a shaky breath taken, ever so slightly leaning into the touch. 

“Come on,” the scientist whispered. No explanation needed. Cecil would trust him implicitly. 

Carlos wondered if anyone had taken advantage of that trust. 

Of course they had. He could imagine a starry eyed young boy, who had a dream. Who never knew that such an innocent dream would lead to his torture. 

The length of four years struck him, and he wanted to scream. He knew he would end up breaking down station managements door, at some point. 

As they moved into the bedroom, the only light coming in through the thin lavender colored cotton curtains, Carlos couldn’t stop dwelling on the insanity of it. Cecil wanted to be a radio host, he wanted to be loved, to be respected. It sounded as though home hadn’t been a safe place for him, a comforting place, a place to hide from the world, as Carlos would often hide, under his blankets, from those at school who thought he was an easy target.

Cecil had fought hard, to achieve something great. And no one had told him. 

His mother? Had she simply left? A father that did not care. 

And a brother he had promised not to ask about. 

He gazed at the bed, unmade, and decided it didn’t matter. There was something he wanted to do, something he wanted to give, and he only hoped that Cecil would allow it. Cecil, the one who always told him he was beautiful, perfect, not flawed. It was idealistic, and so quintessential to the host, his words about the scientist never wavering, from the day they had first met. 

Those compliments over the radio. Surreal. 

Pressing his lips to Cecils without hesitation, he knew that he was being more forceful than he had been in the car. But it wasn’t lust, not at all, not now. Desperation, hoping that Disney movies could be true, and perhaps this kiss of true love could ward off evil. 

Anything was possible here. 

Long, pale fingers reached out, to tug on the fabric of Carlos’s shirt, prepared to pull it off. However, the scientist reached up, taking those hands in his own, and shaking his head as he broke their lips apart. 

“No,” he whispered roughly, emotion undoubtedly starting to break through, as the seconds ticked away, ever closer to a fate that could not be altered. 

This wasn’t about him.

“After it’s over, I’ll make love to you,” he said softly, resolutely, not letting tears fall, but knowing that the urge was prevalent in his low voice. “It isn’t about me now. Let me,” he licked his lips, not usually the one to put things into words so freely, but feeling driven the absurdity of time, “Let me take care of you.” 

Cecil froze, staring at him with adoration, perhaps lost for words. It wasn’t the time now, for mutual pleasures, it wasn’t the time for something so base. Sex was something you could do with anyone. And yes, it was special with them, so special, like nothing else. However, there was something so sacred about what they could do outside of those boundaries, things that were more intimate than simple sex, things that could shake them to their core. Carlos had already experienced it before, and he knew that Cecil enjoyed giving him so much. 

But it was time to give back, more than he ever had. Because this was going to give Cecil strength. He knew it was, even if he could never understand why Cecil seemed to love him so much, why he saw something deep within the scientist that was invisible to all others. 

It must have been fate. 

With shaking hands, he began to unbutton the pale mans shirt, revealing the soft skin beneath, the tattoos in their normal places, still for now. He wondered if they would stay that way, wondered when they would change their alliance. 

No, he wouldn’t think of that now. 

With a gentle push against the mans stomach, he urged Cecil to lay on the bed, amongst the unkempt sheets and deep purple comforter, soft and far too warm for the desert. But Cecil, somehow, was always cold, and it made it all the more wonderful when Carlos could wrap his arms around the Voice, making sure that he could sleep soundly. 

He was pulling Cecils shoes off, his socks, more haphazardly than usual. Carlos couldn’t wait, he couldn’t, he needed to do something, needed to not be useless. Dropping them on the floor, he urged Cecil to take off his work trousers, and what lay underneath, needed him to be exposed, for all of this to work. 

Cecil always called him beautiful, his dark, curled hair, his tanned skin. He would touch him with care, as if not believing he was real. If only Cecil knew how otherworldly he was. Skin that he often compared to the finest silk, the he loved touching, caressing, watching the stress leave the broadcaster in droves. 

The blonde acquiesced, pulled off his black trousers, not-surprising purple boxers that he kept underneath, and Carlos put them to the side. 

Cecil was naked. Completely exposed, no blankets to hide under, no way to avert Carlos’s eyes. The scientist was standing at the edge of the bed, eyes roaming over the others body, wondering who would have reason to bring any suffering upon it. The tattoos were, now that he looked at them in a new light, more out of place than ever. He imagined Cecil’s skin untouched, and wished that he could take away these scars, scars in the form of sentient art.

Slowly, he leaned forward, on his hands and knees, crawling over the man and accessing as he went, holding himself up and gazing into the others eyes, the afternoon sun piercing through just enough to illuminate the pearl colored skin and worshipping gaze. 

Carlos didn’t deserve that praise. 

“Carlos, your clothes--” 

“Shh,” he shook his head, leaning down to press his lips to the others forehead. “This isn’t about me,” he repeated again, needing the other to try to understand. Mutual love was important, yes, but right now, after hearing what he had, it was time to give, and only give. 

As if to heal what time, perhaps, could not. Not in this case. Not all wounds. 

This wasn’t about physical completion. Cecil knew that, he thought. No, this wasn’t inherently sexual at all, because that wasn’t what was needed. There would always be time for that. But this…

Their closeness, their feelings, expanded far beyond that realm. It was something that he admired about the broadcaster--how, with all of his compliments towards Carlos’s looks, it wasn’t what truly drew them together. 

Cecil could see deeper than that. It was only now that Carlos knew just HOW deeply he could see. 

Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the others forehead again, down to his eyes, his cheek, his lips, ghosting over them, and pulling back only to open his eyes enough to see the glow on Cecil’s face, that came with proximity to his ‘beloved Carlos.’ The scientist knew, somehow, that no one had ever treated Cecil with reverence, not like this. 

There were signs, in fact, of the opposite. Cecil having been hurt, in a manner that he couldn’t ponder too long. When Josie has ghosted over the subject, he knew for sure. When she had said that they hurt him, broke him, in every way. Perhaps it had been someone else, too. Cecil had been with one other person. Had he also been a monster? 

No, Cecil deserved reverence. Not only for how much he carried on his shoulders. But because he stayed pure, despite all of it. In his gaze now, there was no humor, no judgement. What Carlos was doing, it was something Cecil would never forget. 

And the scientist wouldn’t either. 

October 26, Friday, 3:32PM. 

As he leaned down, letting his body rest a bit more against his lover, he gently motioned for Cecil to turn his head to the side, giving Carlos access to his long neck, pale and unmarked, the scientists favorite part to touch and kiss. 

Cecil was always grateful. He was sensitive, beyond all reason, and things that most would simply take for granted with a lover, were things that he would surrender to, with abandon. He was vocal, always, of course, it made sense that he would be. But Carlos never knew to the extent. 

Now, more than ever, he found himself moved, to tears, which started to dribble down Cecils neck, as he gently nuzzled against it, kissing, listening to the others voice, feeling his body tremble beneath him. Soft moans, pleads. He knew that Cecil felt most safe, when the scientist was above him. 

When they made love, Cecil always had to be looking at him, always had to be engaged that way. He hated facing away, or the room being too dark. The connection ran deep, deeper than he could have imagined it could go. Cecils body reacted so strongly, even now, there was such need in the breaths he was taking, it was enough for Carlos to give him this. This safety, this warmth. 

Always.

Cecil always trembled. At first, Carlos was worried that it was out of fear, and perhaps it had been. But now, the frequency was different--and he knew that it was only out of sensation, that sensitivity again, too strong, as if every touch could bring him over the edge. 

And they had. Carlos running his fingers over the mans body, and kissing the right spots, had brought Cecil over the edge more than once, with a cry of the scientists name, hands clutching the sheets. But that wasn’t what this was. 

“I’m sorry,” the broadcaster said, voice coming out higher than usual, punctuated by a small gasp as Carlos continued to kiss the sensitive skin. “My Carlos, my world,” his slender arms wrapped around the man, as he turned his head away a bit more, giving more access. Oh, how he loved having his neck kissed...Carlos could do it forever. 

He would, if he had to. If it meant calm. 

“I love you,” the scientist whispered against his ear, punctuating it with a kiss to his temple. He needed Cecil to understand, needed him to accept. 

Carlos wasn’t going anywhere. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, lips moving against his neck. 

They would make it through. 

“You’re so, so strong.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t mind. The tears wouldn’t stop flowing, and he cursed the unknown. “Cecil, you don’t know how strong you are,” 

There was a sob from beneath him, and he jolted, wondering if punishment had begun, but quickly realizing that his words had drawn them forth. Pulling back, he brought his hands to cup Cecils face, forcing him to look up, look up at his present. 

“I’m not,” the Voice said, tears dripping down to Carlos’s fingertips. “No, Carlos, I’m not, I don’t know how I--” 

“Because you’re strong, that’s how.” He was crying too. It was too unlike him, and he wished that he could hold it together, for Cecils sake, but, damn it to hell. They could cry together, maybe that was what was needed after all. Maybe that was now they could cope. 

How they could heal, together, not as one. 

“I never wanted you to know,” Cecil whispered, his gaze bright and pleading. “It’s too much, I didn’t want you to worry--”

“I’m sorry, that I went snooping,” the dark skinned man said, “ I was scared to death when I saw the letter, I couldn’t--” He paused, shaking his head, lips tight. 

“You don’t have to do this alone anymore,” he said, voice wavering, thumbs brushing over Cecils cheeks, wiping tears away. “I thought I was going to lose you--please, don’t apologize for not telling me, how could you, I couldn’t imagine--” 

The broadcaster leaned up, pushed the scientists hands away, and then, there was a pale body draped against him. The tables had turned, somewhat, but now, there he was, sitting on the bed, with Cecil in his lap, face buried in his neck, against his T-shirt, not crying loudly, but certainly crying. His voice rang out after a moment, muffled. 

“I can feel it,” his voice was scared, tired, “Sweet, kind, strong Carlos, I can feel what you feel.” 

The scientist froze, trying to quickly access his own emotions, to get them in check, but Cecil quickly shook his head .

“I feel how much you love me,” he wept, hands clutching Carlos’s shirt, his nudity forgotten, comfort found. “I feel your fear, I feel your worry, but I…” He laughed, and it wasn’t wrong, not in the moment, it was somehow welcome, “I feel your love more than any of it, I can focus on that, I…” 

The arms wrapped around him tighter, and Carlos held him just as tightly, hands ghosting over his uncovered back, keeping him warm, finally bringing a hand up to run through his hair. 

A sob escaped Cecil, finally, as if the dam was breaking. “God, Carlos, don’t let me go, please, don’t let me go,” the words were a babble, unlike the usually smooth tones, and Carlos nodded, Cecil was afraid. Cecil was overwhelmed. Cecil was tired. A hand came up to grip Carlos's hair, as the slender man fell to pieces, as he tried to find solace somewhere where no one else could touch him. 

Cecil was strong. 

Cecil was powerful. Able. He wouldn’t give in. 

Carlos wouldn't let him. 

It was as if Cecil were fighting to keep the sobs in, fighting to be strong. Carlos was close to telling him to simply let go, when suddenly, Cecil stopped trembling completely. His arms stopped holding so tight, and there was nothing but stillness. 

He felt his heart stop in his chest for a moment. 

And the words came, and his eyes shut in fear. 

“It’s starting.”


	8. Evaporate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you who have left praise, or have simply liked the story, you should know that it means a great deal to me. Things are starting to get a little more painful in this chapter, but starting with the next chapter, there will be warnings up here in the notes. 
> 
> Simply put, this is the last 'tame' chapter. I only hope that you enjoy it, and keep checking back for regular updates!
> 
> Also, if you want to chat with me directly, ask any questions or make suggestions, feel free to find me on Tumblr, at feels-by-the-foot.

It was too early. It was too early, the world outside was still that small bit of brightness, however much could filter into the city, before it faded into eventual blackness. 

Maybe it would always seem too sudden. Was there a good time? If it were totally black in the room, if he lost the ability to see the outline of Cecil’s milky pale shoulder, or the nape of his still blushing neck, would it make it any easier? 

If he could pretend it was someone who deserved it?

If he could, somehow, as a scientist, remind himself that he had no idea what was in store, and therefore had no means to stop it? 

It was overwhelmingly hard to be powerless. 

The words that spilled from Cecils lips were still heavy, and Carlos found himself waiting for something more. Found himself waiting for blood, for something to come out of the walls, to grab Cecil and take him away, to wherever this re-education was supposed to happen. His heart pounded in his chest, and everything felt too real, too vivid, in this otherworldly landscape, and it was a rare moment in which Night Vale was much more than just a scientists wet dream. 

It was real. It was terror. It was unexpected, and it was dangerous. 

And he had burst in, and interfered. Would Cecil have gone, had he not been in the picture?

Was his devotion to this town so deep? 

No. They had made it this deep. An outside force, exacting itself on a conduit. Leaving behind marks in the form of winding tentacles and symbols which looked as though they held meaning to a long lost people, ancient and formidable. Managements fingerprints, as it were, embedded in his lovers pearl-white skin, testament to a life Carlos wished to erase, and replace with love and bright, comforting light.

He was far out of his comfort zone. He had been for a long time. 

But the prize was currently draped around him, like a King’s cloak. 

Cecil pulled back, hands on Carlos’s shoulders, gazing off into nothingness, mouth slightly agape in what could have been a question unvoiced. The scientist kept quiet, watching the now dimming light bouncing off of Cecil’s skin, feeling the warmth coming off of his body. It was always incredible to him, how Cecil was not shy, not anymore. He had been, for a long time, hadn’t wanted to show himself, had wanted the lights off when they were intimate. 

Maybe he knew now, the source of that shame. 

Unwarranted.

“How can you,” he wet his lips, reaching down to grip the others hand, “How can you tell? Are you okay?” 

He wish he could go back in time and kick himself for asking such a stupid question. 

Carlos had a feeling that he understood about ten percent of what was happening with Cecil, of his past, of what had occurred to bring them to this point. And uncovering the other ninety percent…

Together, some kind of shaky ‘strength’ could be found. He had to trust in that. He could handle anything, and this, it needed to be handled.

Demons hated to be known. 

He waited for answer that didn’t seem to be coming; but then, seeing Cecil’s eyes, scanning over his own arms, his gaze drifted down, trying to see what was distracting him so much. All he could see was that soft skin, the occasional freckle, ones that he had fun counting when he had the chance, when he was able to map the others body--

Though, usually, there was something in the way. Something covering up slivers of skin, purple and black paint on a clean canvas. 

At the moment, he was looking at a Cecil he had never been given the chance to see. Arms bare, chest bare, and Carlos was...

speechless. His throat seemed to close, and it was nothing but awe. Not because this image of Cecil was at all better--simply different. It was as if he were seeing something he was never meant to see, a Cecil before his path had been so permanently decided. 

“What...where--” he ran his hands over the other mans skin, up his arms and over his chest, taking it in, committing it to memory, knowing that this couldn’t last, it must be a mirage, it must be a trick.

Cecil was sitting up now, looking himself over, his own body alien, taking him back to a time that was more simple. 

It was more difficult to remember than ever before. 

Carlos’s hands were comforting, warm and enough to keep him grounded, and he wondered briefly how the other felt. “You probably prefer me without them, but,” he said softly, before crawling out of bed, standing up, posture tired. On his back, there they were--a mass of tentacles and the strange language, moving in a circular pattern, tight and isolated. “I’m afraid they won’t go away.” 

It was still somehow disconcerting, somehow wrong, to see tattoos move. It was incorrect to call them tattoos, really, they were something different altogether. 

Scientifically. 

But he would think about that another time. Cecils words finally registered, and he shook his head, motion definite. There was no question, no intentional hesitation. From the bed, he reached out, gripping the other hands right hand tightly in his own, feeling his legs having gone a bit numb, simply perching on the side of the bed, kneeling before his altar. 

Some men worshipped Gods. But Carlos, he was a scientist. And Cecil was seeming to be more and more worth his veneration. 

Since the first time he had confessed on the radio, perhaps, he had been worth everything. 

“No, I don’t prefer you without them,” he muttered, hesitant to touch the now angry looking mass of ink on Cecil’s back, afraid that any disturbance would cause them to somehow lash out. He didn’t know what they could really do, but this was a rare time when experimenting seemed like the worst idea. “I think you’re perfect with or without them. I’ve just,” he paused, keeping his eyes on the pale skin, “Tattoos are permanent. I just never thought I’d see what you looked like without them.”

Cecil wasn’t to say that they weren’t exactly ‘tattoos’, but he realized he didn’t know the word for what they were. Letting it go, he turned and took Carlos’s face in his hands, shaking his head. “What have I done to deserve you?”

Carlos smiled, reaching up to place his hand over Cecils, a comforting gesture. “I could ask the same thing.”

A pained look crossed the broadcasters face, but was gone as soon as it had appeared, and after rubbing his hand over Carlos’s stubble for a moment, a perfect physical reminder of his current circumstances, he pulled his hand away. Standing naked in the nearly dissaperated light of the bedroom, it was perhaps habit or compulsion for the man to wrap his arms around himself, averting his eyes from Carlos’s, wanting to pretend that this wasn’t happening. 

There was nowhere to hide, not as he was now. And the wheels had already started turning. 

“Hey,” Carlos whispered, standing up, hissing as he felt both feet on pins and needles. Stumbling somewhat ungracefully over to the man, he reached up, hands on Cecil’s shoulders, squeezing only enough to get his point across. 

Please, don’t hide from me. 

The words wouldn’t come yet. He knew that, he knew that in time, things would start to make more logical sense, Cecil’s actions would make sense, their future would make sense. But right now, there they were, in a mass of uncertainty, and things had barely even started. 

It would be a trial. A series of trials, from the way it sounded. And he would run alongside Cecil, to make sure that he could make it to the finish line. 

Cecil still didn’t look up, and it was more terrifying than anything. Cecil, who always seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, and who never let himself look down, never let himself look flustered or out of sorts, was now, suddenly, acting in a way Carlos didn’t know he was capable of. Whatever this was, this attack, this punishment, it had just begun, and already, the effects were playing out before his eyes. 

“Cecil,” he whispered, running his hands up and down his arms, already feeling the goosebumps that were all too common. Always cold, even in the desert…

An anomaly. His anomaly. 

It took a few moments before his head raised, but his eyes still remained glued elsewhere, somewhere to Carlos’s left, the Voice’s face tired but just as perfect as it had been yesterday, the day before that, and the week before that. 

It was a scientific certainty, that perfection. Much like the sun rising each day, or the moon going through cycles. 

...Well, scientific certainty anywhere besides Night Vale. Sometimes, the moon seemed to be full for a great many days in a row. 

“Look at me,” he pleaded softly, hand moving to cup the man's cheek, thumb smoothing over it gently, dark brown eyes gazing at him fondly, warmth palpable, nothing to be afraid of. But of course, in this place, there was so much to fear--and certainly, in Cecil’s head, in his memories, there were even more monsters hidden in the shadows. 

He could only try to be a beacon. And, he needed to remember to keep his emotions in check. Somehow, he tried to think of happy things--of their first meeting, the first time they had truly spoken, the first time he had heard Cecil’s voice NOT coming through a radio. How it sounded similar, yet so different, more gentle and less stern. Their first kiss, that was important, so important, more than he had realized. It was the first time Cecil had allowed something so…

There wasn’t a word. Not for what they had. Not for what they had shared, and would keep sharing, keep exploring. 

It seemed to be working, and Cecil’s deep purple eyes slowly met his, filled with the same emotion a deer had before it scurried away after being startled. Was it because he was naked, completely unable to have a safe place to hide? Was it because he was in pain? Was it because he thought Carlos’s would harm him? 

He didn’t have the heart to ask. Not now. 

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, gripping the back of his head, fingers combing through the platinum blonde locks, feeling Cecil’s breath on his neck. He knew it was important to make things comfortable, take things as slow as they needed to be, and that was something he could do. 

“What do you need,” he asked, quietly, not relinquishing his hold, “Tell me. Anything, tell me what will make things better. We have all the time we need, I am not going anywhere, work can wait. I’m right here.” His words were quick and breathy, and he realized that it was harder than he thought, to keep calm. 

Love made you a little on edge. 

“Tea.”

Carlos cocked his head, pressing his forehead against Cecils and chuckling softly. “Tea?”

Cecil managed to smile softly at the sound of his boyfriends laughter, nodding. “More tea...It just helps, somehow. I think it’s all Josies doing, she always had tea on the stove.” Leaning forward, he gently pressed his lips against Carlos’s, the warmth of his darker skin intoxicating, safe, and for a brief moment, he held hope. 

Hope was important. Especially at this moment when he started to realize how much had changed in the span of a single day. 

“Come on,” the Voice whispered, nodding towards the kitchen. “We should turn some lights on...Let me make some, talk to me..” Gently untangling himself from his lovers arms, he walked into the closet, messy and in a constant state of disarray, mostly because Cecil owned a preposterous amount of cardigans and argyle sweaters. Work shirts hung with purpose, while everything else tended to gather in a pile on the shag carpet. Carlos was only slightly more likely to keep things tidy--his lab was, anyway--but here, the clothing which he had left behind had slowly started to make their way into the piles as well. 

Well, the mess was comfortable. Growing up, his home had been spotlessly clean, and his mother had always made a point to say ‘Even if we don’t have too much money, we can still keep a nice house.’ He had agreed, but now...Cecil’s apartment felt ‘lived-in’, and he didn’t want to make it feel sterile. 

It was perfect. 

There were some hums and inaudible words coming from the closet, and when Cecil came back out, he wore the pair of dark purple sweatpants Carlos had bought him on impulse. Soft fabric, like those yoga pants that were so in-style in other parts of the country, and much easier on the eyes than the furry pants, which he had since wearing around the house. Carlos was going to question why he hadn’t put on a shirt--but the heat from his boyfriends skin was still fresh on his hands. 

He was cold, with goosebumps, always cold, but at this moment, his skin was warm, hot, even. 

Night Vale. Scientific mysteries like no other. 

“No point in covering up,” Cecil conceded, walking into the short hallway into the kitchen and flipping the switch, bathing the room in florescent light. Glancing at the table, where the letter had been earlier, back in it’s envelope, he found it gone--and instead, two cups and two lavender tea bags in it’s place. 

Carlos was close behind, and he thought he was hallucinating when he saw the cups, neither of which had been there when they came in. He knew, because he had seen the letter on the table when they got back, cursed at it silently in his mind. 

Cecil smiled softly, brushing his fingers over the cup closest to him, and whispering a small ‘Thank you.’ Turning towards Carlos, he let a smile illuminate his pale lips. “The faceless old woman has been very hospitable lately! I think it has to do with my talking about her on air.” He gripped both cups, taking them over to the counter to heat the water. 

For a moment, everything was normal. Carlos stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, watching Cecil fill the kettle and turn the heat up on the stove, and it felt like any other Friday. 

And then he looked at the tattoos on his back, a single mass, and it made reality very clear, and very sharp. 

“Josie is incredible, isn’t she?”

The question took the scientist by surprise, but he nodded his head, walking into the kitchen to stand across from where Cecil was leaning on the counter. “I had no idea,” he mused, pausing to reach up and grab the sugar out of the cabinet, knowing Cecil would want plenty. “I really just...drove there on a whim. I didn’t know anything, I swear I didn’t--”

“Carlos!” The Voice held up his hands, smiling shakily. “Whether you knew anything or not, I don’t mind. I don’t,” he repeated, as if trying to convince himself. Because the idea of Carlos knowing was still very much not okay. 

“And actually,” he laughed gently, trying to make it sound normal, “I know that you didn’t know. I can tell.” 

Carlos froze, trying to make sense of that. Had he mentioned something?

Oh yeah. Psychic. 

It was worth studying, but he knew he never would. That would be adding too much insult to injury. 

Cecil wasn’t a test subject. Not anymore, at least. Thinking now, that the entire time that they had been together, Cecil had been able to feel what he felt, maybe hear what he was thinking, it was overwhelming in itself. Embarrassing. 

He could barely cope with his own emotions. How would it be, feeling what someone else felt, pure, unfiltered emotion? On top of this? He didn't know exactly how it worked, or exactly how it felt, but the way Josie had described it...

No, the psychic bit, that would have to wait. One thing at a time.

“Right,” he marveled, trying hard to wrap his head around something that simply wasn’t possible for a ‘normal’ person to comprehend. And he was feeling pretty normal. “I’m still...glad. That I went. That we could talk, but I--”

“You didn’t want me to be upset, that you went behind my back.” 

Carlos nearly interjected to ask Cecil not to read his thoughts, but the broadcaster laughed quietly, not without some actual humor. “I wasn’t reading your thoughts. I know you, dear Carlos. I know that you wouldn’t do anything that would hurt me. I can read your intentions without reading your mind.” Walking forward, he kissed Carlos’s cheek, before the plea left him. 

“Let’s just be normal.”

The scientist wanted to laugh at the request, but the sincerity in Cecil’s eyes kept him silent. 

They both knew there was no going back to how things had been, even the day before. But even still, nothing had really changed. 

Not between them. 

“Cecil, we can’t-” Carlos began, but was quickly silenced by the kettle and it’s high pitched squeal, which prompted the broadcaster to turn and slightly fumble with the handle--leading the scientist to have a mini heart attack then the image of a scalded Cecil entered his psyche, prompting him to wonder if things could get that bad--but the crisis was averted, and Cecil began pouring the water into each cup, shaky hands putting it down on the burner not in use, and place the teabags in gently, steeping for at least three minutes as was his custom. 

Clearing his throat, Carlos tried again. “I want to do something.” 

Cecil turned to look at him curiously, his eyes only kind and accepting, not one hint of accusation or anger. And the scientist wanted to melt into a puddle, every time he remembered how infinitely forgiving and patient the man was. 

He had no right to be, or no reason. And yet, here they were, and he knew he wasn’t reading Cecil wrong. 

“I don’t want to be--Cecil, I know you want a distraction, but I--”

“Please!”

It was loud. Louder than Cecil usually was, even when he was irritated at Steve Carlsberg or screeching about wheat being somewhere in their food supply. A loud cry, punctuated by his voice cracking, as if it were someone else talking, and not the man who was so calm a moment ago. 

“Please, Carlos. Please,” he had left the bags to drift on the surface, the water in the cups starting to darken with flavor. “Please, tell me about…” He shook his head--not making eye contact again, it seemed like--just staring into the cups. “About science. Tell me what you’re doing at the lab. Tell me what you’ve found out about the clocks, tell me something, please, just--”

“The clocks still don’t make any sense.” 

Cecil raised his gaze, mouth slightly agape with shock, before it melted into a soft smile, though it was ready to flee at any moment. Opening the drawer at his hip to pull out a spoon, he gently prodded the tea bags, scooping them out of the water, and putting them aside, in the sink, before scooping out an ample amount of sugar--one, two, three scoops--before stirring his, and bringing it to his lips, gesturing to the scientist to grab his cup. No sugar...Cecil would never understand the point. 

“I’ve run test after test, and it seems that they just...are that way. They just aren’t real, and yet, they are as real as can be.” Reaching out for the cup, he brought it to his lips, blowing on it softly before taking a sip, and agreeing that Josie had good taste. It was calming, though he questioned it’s effects with heaps of sugar. 

But, whatever Cecil needed. 

“A lot of things in Night Vale are that way,” he quipped, watching as Cecil closed his eyes as he sipped the hot drink, the way he looked so lean and tired, yet so strong and able, in his sweatpants. They suited him, more than he had thought when he picked them out. “They seem one way, so normal and average, but when you look closer, they are...extraordinary.” 

Cecil exhaled, taking steady breaths, and Carlos caught onto it. The type of breaths a person took when they were trying to steady themselves. When they were trying to keep themselves together. The same type of breaths he had taken, when he fractured a bone in his arm when he was ten.

So he kept talking. 

“The other scientists, I don’t know how much they really want to stay...Night Vale is an interesting place, sure, and we could probably spend forever studying it. But I think they are homesick, I’ve overheard a few of them talking about it the past few weeks. And, no offense, of course, but Night Vale isn’t the most welcoming place to outsiders.” 

A strangled laugh came from the radio host, and Carlos winced at the obvious discomfort in his voice. “No, I don’t blame them,” he said quietly, voice barely trembling. His cup was nearly empty, as he had tried to gulp down the normally calming liquid all at once, hoping that it would simply make everything go away. 

That plan was a little flawed. 

“And not all of them have such a...wonderful reason to stay.” Carlos gazed at Cecil seriously, watched as the blonde put the cup down, and ran his hands over his face and through his hair. 

“Wonderful,” the host said, somewhat bitterly, but agreed. “I know NIght Vale better than anyone, I think, it can be...harsh.” It was hard for him, to imagine being an outsider. To imagine what this small desert community would be, to someone from seemingly another world, like Carlos was. 

No, Cecil was too connected. He wondered briefly, if he left, would the visions stop? Or would they get worse?

It struck him that he could feel Carlos’s emotions, his worries, his fears and his triumphs. And since Carlos was an outsider, it made it likely that he would be able to feel other outsiders as well…

“Cecil?” Carlos decided that tea wasn’t exactly his main focus, and putting the half-empty cup down, he approached the shirtless man, hating the idea of being stern. 

“I know that you want things to be…like they were, I know you do. And they are, they still are, I still love you. Nothing has changed, my feelings haven’t changed.” Cecil was still, and so he pushed harder. “If you can...feel, what I’m feeling, you should be able to tell that I’m telling the truth.” He put his hand over Cecils heart--which was beating too quick, in his opinion. “Tell me what I’m feeling.”

Silence. 

“Cecil, tell me--”

“You’re terrified.” Still, that strangled sound, as if the dam holding back Cecil’s usually buried emotions was beginning to give way. “You’re terrified, because you don’t know what is coming. Everything that Josie said to you, everything is just running around in your brain, up and down your nerves, and it is making you so heavy.” He gasped, and Carlos pulled his hand back, as if breaking contact would help. 

It didn’t. 

“Maybe you want me to try and feel how much you love me...And I can feel it, Carlos, I can still feel it, I’ve known since before you knew, and it gave me so much strength, it’s giving me strength right now. But right now, you are so afraid, and so...angry.” Carlos opened his mouth to retort, to say for the dozenth time that he wasn’t angry, but Cecil cut him off. “Not angry with me, angry with,” a whisper, “them.” 

And the scientist couldn’t argue. There was a need, a carnal, almost inhuman need, to rip them apart, and make them pay for whatever it was that they had done. He realized that he hadn’t heard details, not all of them, and he was glad. 

When he did finally hear them, he may walk right into his own death. Because he was quite sure that he would pry that door open, and somehow, somehow, make this suffering stop. Make it ALL stop. 

“NO.”

It was the same booming command as earlier, and Carlos had a feeling that it only sounded so strong because it was one syllable. 

“Cecil, what--”

“You won’t...approach them,” Cecil whispered, as if he had used up his energy with that one declaration. “You won’t put yourself in danger because of this, because of me, Carlos, you won’t.” 

The dark haired man wanted to agree, but he wasn’t so sure that he could make that promise. “Cecil, I don’t know exactly what they did, but what I do know, it was...sick, it was--”

“If anyone will get rid of them, if anyone will stop them, it will be me.” 

Carlos felt a surge of pride, of amazement, at those words. To know that Cecil hadn’t been completely stripped of fight, it was--

He watched as Cecil put his hands over his face and lowered his head, a moan of pain escaping him, hands slowly curling into fists, shaking audible against the counter. Panicked, Carlos put his hands out, not knowing where to touch, not knowing what was wrong, if his hands would bring more pain than comfort. 

“Cecil,” he begged, “Look at me, what is it, what hurts?” 

It took a few excruciating moments for Cecil to slowly extend his back, to stand up straight, shaking like a leaf. There was no blood, nothing seemed out of place--anxiety, probably--and he breathed a loud sigh of relief, 

as he saw Cecils neck. 

And the deep purple tentacle completely encircling it, the appendage somewhere he had never seen it, around the part of Cecil that was his comfort, the part of him that Carlos would so often kiss, and stroke, to keep him calm. 

It was wrapped around his neck, and Carlos felt his body go numb at the realization. 

Cecil was still for a moment, looking at Carlos with those beautiful amethyst eyes--God, they were stunning--and the scientist could do nothing but look back, could do nothing but push that love towards the front of his mind. 

God, what could he do? 

And then it came--a delayed sob, from a softly smiling Cecil, who was putting on the strongest face he ever had, to comfort a certain imperfectly perfect love of his life. 

He could feel the unmistakable urge to grab Cecil and run. Somewhere, where this wasn’t expected of him.

“I have to behave, I'm sorry," Cecil sobbed, words raw and trembling, stopped Carlos’s heart, and he lowered his head, reaching out for any part of Cecil, any part of him that needed reassurance. Wanted to cradle him, wanted to stop this, didn't want to fight, wanted to beg on his knees in front of the locked door, for the man that he loved. God, this was so wrong...

It was only the beginning. 


	9. Honey, Watch your Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos finds himself gazing into the eyes of a Cecil he never thought he'd know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Things are about to take a rather dire turn, and I just want to warn people who may be upset by anything happening in this chapter, and the following ones. 
> 
> Warnings for : descriptions of physical abuse and sexual abuse, as well as emotional and mental abuse, torture, and violence. These warnings will be be present in the next few chapters. 
> 
> Despite that, please enjoy! And it would mean a lot to me to get some feedback, so either comment here, or shoot me a message on my Tumblr, feels-by-the-foot.tumblr.com.

Carlos liked concrete evidence, and actual well-phrased questions that could be answered in a report, written words on a page or terms spoken into a voice recorder. 

He liked the idea that he could solve problems, find solutions, use his prior knowledge to form a proper hypothesis, and formulate some way to create change. He liked the feeling of watching wrongs reverted to rights. 

He didn’t like this. No, this was all wrong, too wrong, even for Night Vale. All of it. Because Night Vale was odd, but it wasn’t malevolent. It was otherworldly, it was bizarre, in the simplest terms, but it wasn’t evil. 

Maybe he had been wrong all along. 

The panic was breaking out all over his skin, bumps rising, the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight, as he watched the blonde try, try, try to gather himself, try to pull himself together, try to stop the salty drops from falling, trying not to panic as the tentacle wrapped around his throat. 

“Cecil, just--” his voice was shaking, and he swallowed once, trying to gulp down his fear, but knowing it wouldn’t be enough, “Calm down. It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay.” The scientist kept repeating it, not minding that it was a lie, not at the moment. He knew now that if Cecil struggled, things would get worse, which was already wrong on so many levels, though he should have known. 

If the tattoos were sentient, why couldn’t they be weapons? If they hadn’t have been Cecil’s idea, of course, they could be capable of anything. 

Because this was Night Vale. The void. A place where the impossible was possible, and at the moment, that meant that nightmares were very capable of coming true. 

The scent of lavender was still in the air, of the ample amount of sugar that Cecil had poured into his cup. The only sound was of Cecil’s ragged breaths, desperate and strained, and it hurt Carlos’s ears to hear him that way. The Voice was never in this state, he never struggled to speak or be calm on air. And yet, things were more different off-air than he could have imagined. 

For the past few months, things between them had seemed to speed up, falling into a pattern, a familiar routine, something so safe and predictable. It was something that Carlos enjoyed, the idea that someone else could be on the same schedule, and things could work without feeling any kind of pressure. That was what he couldn’t stand about dating in high school, and college, particularly. There was always need to conform, to make sure the other party was okay, to adjust schedules and give, give, give, often without getting anything in return. 

But with Cecil, it had been easy. Ridiculously easy, really. As if they had been made for each other, the way their lives aligned. The way that Cecil tended to wear his heart on his sleeve, to express himself so freely, without a care in the world. The way that nothing was rushed, that they did things at their own pace, their own speed, with no feelings of owing anything, or being owed. 

In that second, he realized that not everything was just coincidence. Not everything was a matter of two puzzle pieces, matching up perfectly. 

Whenever he was thirsty, it was as if Cecil knew before he said anything. He would always make him exactly what he wanted, whether it be coffee or water, and Carlos marvelled at how intuitive he was. 

Soul mates, existing on the same wavelength. 

Whenever he had a long day at the lab, Cecil would always show up, marvelling at his surroundings, picking up beakers and inspecting whatever was inside, seemingly oblivious to any danger. Usually elbows deep in an experiment, Carlos would tell the blonde to head home before him, to quit touching things--usually his exhaustion being misconstrued as irritation. 

And every time, Cecil would wrap his arms around his neck, kiss his cheek with those soft, pink lips, and ask him to come home, that he needed to rest. 

Yes, Cecil was intuitive. He was kind, giving, doing everything that was in his power to make Carlos comfortable with these odd surroundings. He often commented that an outsider ‘could never understand Night Vale,’ a sentiment that used to hurt him, but which was now completely feasible. 

He’d never understand why things had to be this way. Whether it be custom, or pure evil, he would never understand what could be gained by Cecil being…

His thoughts dropped off. Cecil had been psychic all along, had simply known everything. And yet, it didn’t make the idea of his fetching him refreshments or dragging him home to bed any less impactful. Any less perfect, or magical. 

Magical. That was a good word for Cecil. Not so much for Night Vale.

Not anymore. 

He watched as Cecil, gripping the counter with white knuckles, reached his free hand up to brush against his neck. The tentacle had begun to unravel, slowly inching it’s way back to the center of the broadcasters back, he imagined. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he took a step forward, hand outstretched, as if trying to calm a startled animal. 

“See, it’s fine, we’re going to be fine--”

Blotches were already starting to appear around the others neck, soon to become bruises, Carlos knew. Red skin, angrily standing out against the pale. 

With a trembling hand, he reached out, brushing his fingers against the wounded skin, listening to a high-pitched whimper come from the other, his eyes glued shut, as if wanting to travel somewhere far away, somewhere not like this world, not like this town, somewhere where this was a simple nightmare, and he could wake up. 

And things would be perfect again. They could sit on the loveseat, and watch reruns of The Price is Right, with everyones face blurred out and voices deepened for reasons Carlos was still hypothesizing. 

They could lay in bed, and Cecil could try to explain certain rituals, Night Vale holidays, and Carlos could make mental notes, wishing that he could truly commit every oddity to memory, but knowing that it would be too much. Night Vale was simply too much. 

But anything was better than this. 

“Cecil,” he whispered, slowly working up the courage to get closer, feeling like he would cause harm without intent, that the embrace he wrapped the blonde up in would crush him, and he would dissolve into ash. That those tentacles would somehow lash out against his darker skin, leaving curved slices up the length of his arms, punishing him for his patience. 

Let them try. He would invite them gladly.

Hands flat against the others back, warm and rough, he held Cecil close against his chest, lips brushing against a pierced ear. “I’ve got you.” The feelings of helplessness were temporarily smothered, as he felt Cecil’s shaking start to cease. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, gingerly pressing his lips to a now forming bruise, no pressure, only a promise that it would heal. 

And those arms were wrapping around him, and he felt his mind start to go white, as usual…

No. Not as usual. What in the world?

His mind was going black and white, like an old television out of tune, the rabbit ears bent and useless. Hiis head leaned on Cecil’s shoulder, limp, eyes drifting shut. He could feel his body, just barely, as if he were slowly lifting out of his skin, being pulled to another location, as if his soul was being called to arms. The moment of panic was short-lived, and the idea of ‘death’ never crossed his mind, because fate wouldn’t be that cruel. 

It wasn’t very scientific to think that way. Fate. Certainly he could have suffered a sudden brain aneurysm.

Unlikely. 

No, he wasn’t afraid of this feeling. And after a moment, he couldn’t feel his body anymore, could see nothing in front of his eyes, just a simple whiteness. Not bright, not dark. Slowly, inch by inch, he felt the fear start to blossom, from the base of his spine, vertical, pulsing behind his eyes, and everything was wrong. The burning sensation he suddenly became aware of, ablaze over every inch of his skin, was increasing in potency, and he looked down to try to inspect himself, to make everything to stop, to wake up--

Where was he?

It wasn’t a dream. In a dream you didn’t feel pain, not the same way as being awake. Envisioned it, mimicked reactions that you may have in a conscious state, but didn’t feel flames trying to burst from your skin. 

With panicked gasp, Carlos looked around, assessed his surroundings, prepared to make a perfectly logical statement. 

He had no words that could explain it. 

It was a room. Just that. A room. No windows. The walls that same white, not a crease or crack, pure and untouched concrete, perhaps. A door, a large door, with no knob. Only able to be opened from the outside. 

No pictures on the walls. No television set. No kitchen, no shower. A toilet in one corner, and a slovenly kept cot in the other. One blanket, not even long enough to reach the end of it, more like an oversized towel. The pillow was stained, as was the floor, surely blood. Hypothetically, it could be many other things. 

He knew it wasn’t. 

It was akin to a jail cell, yet somehow more foreboding. Even jail cells often had a window, or bars, the noise of other inmates banging on the walls or the bars, perhaps the voice of the warden, or the whistles of rabid men as a women walked through the halls on a visit. 

But this was silence. A kind of silence that resonated. His ears had been ringing, and it was only getting louder, and louder, the sound of no sound. Nothing outside the door, no approaching footsteps or a promise of escape. 

Was this Station Management getting revenge on him, for being an outsider? For getting too close? He had toyed with the idea for a while, that he wasn’t truly welcome, that asking too many questions would end up putting him in hot water. And now, with everything Carlos had become aware of in the past twenty four hours, getting off scott free sounded too good to be true. Were they going to kill him? 

He was going to die, it was scientific certainty, but he would die when he was an old man. And when Cecil…

“It isn’t enough.” 

The voice made him jump out of his skin--or, his spirit, whatever he had become--and he jerked his head in the direction of the voice, a small voice, not high-pitched, not deep, somewhere in the middle. But it was tired, that was certain. 

The figure seemed to be in his blind spot. Maybe it had been hidden from him on purpose. It was as if he were frozen, though it wasn’t out of fear, not of whatever this thing--this person--was, on the ground, slightly out of focus. Carlos was afraid that if he moved, the world would dissolve around his feet. It struck him suddenly that he was barefoot, and that the ground was cold, hard, like stone. 

Whoever this person was, they didn’t need to be on the floor. Were they a prisoner? A criminal? Was he trapped here with them, maybe to fight to the death? Station Management seemed to have that sense of humor. 

It was now or never. 

Taking a deep breath, he forcefully lifted a leg, taking one, small, tentative step--

Silence. Stillness. Nothing to worry about. 

Letting out a delayed breath, he realized that he couldn’t hear his feet hitting the stone, couldn’t hear his own breath or heartbeat in his ears. Only silence, until this boy had spoken--

“They probably won’t make it out, it’s hopeless. It was an orange hue. And it was round, all wrong, all wrong, should have been shapeless.”

The words were uttered under the boys breath, and this time, there was something familiar about the tone. The way the colors name slid off his tongue, the way there was a playful lilt to the words which truly didn’t belong in context. 

Carlos felt his non-corporeal stomach start to drop. 

“The way it broadened out,” the boy--blonde, with hints of caked-on black, Carlos noted with a flinch--muttered tonelessly, shaking his head, “another fourteen seconds and it would have landed right. What a shame.” A laugh, real, not mocking, as if someone had told a particularly hilarious joke, burst from the boys lips, playfully, and Carlos felt his teeth clench, because everything was WRONG. 

There was no making sense of the words, but his vision was clearing, as if his eyes had been open underwater, and he was now above it all, twenty twenty. 

And he was terrified. 

The boy was hanging his head down, sitting against the wall, body limp, arms at his sides, legs spread out in front of him. The wall behind him was somewhat stained, spatters of red decorating the once-blank canvas, his body--Cecil’s body, denial was a useless construct--emaciated beyond all reason. If he ate, it had to be next to nothing, and Carlos could count his ribs, swore that he could see the blood vessels moving underneath his snow white skin. 

Carlos realized with a jolt that Cecil was naked. He was probably cold, of course, he was always cold. And that blanket wouldn’t be warm enough.

Bruised. His wrists, his neck, his chest, sickly yellow and purple bruises, some darker, older, some too recent. Covering his legs, his stomach. Too many. Carlos felt his body jolt with sympathy. 

"It wasn't that long ago," the boy continued, and Carlos didn't know what to make of any of it. "There wasn't any more left, I had to go without," and the boy started crying. Real, hiccuping sobs. As if he were attending the funeral of his favorite grandmother. There was no inkling that it was fake, no, Carlos had seen Cecil cry, and this was the real deal. So sudden... 

The scientist reached out, intent on doing something to improve the situation, when 

laughter. 

A real laugh, hearty and over the top came from the boy, his tears still dropping onto his scarred thighs. "It was a nice birthday party, but I ate all the cake! Didn't leave any for anyone else." A hand rose up to wipe his face, and Carlos felt ill.

It gave him whiplash. But what was going on inside Cecil's head, for him to not be able to control his...

_Everyone's emotions. This must have been the beginning of it all. Like Josie said._

Trying to find his voice proved to be an exercise in futility. Uttering the others name resulted in nothing, and as he steadily attempted to raise his voice, even more nothing. Not even a whistle of air, not even a throaty breath. 

Silence. 

Seeing Cecil as a young man should have been a privilege. Like the night that he had finally broken down at the blonde’s pleas, and taken out the one photo album he had brought along, just in case he wanted to see a familiar face. 

Back then, he couldn’t have known that Cecil’s face would become the most familiar. The most comforting thing, in this black pit in the middle of the desert. Cecil had smiled so wide, brushed his dexterous fingers over the photos, asking about each and every family member, with such gusto. Childlike curiosity was something that Carlos loved about Cecil--it was something they shared. Curiosity was vital to being a scientist. 

And while Carlos was preparing for college, ready to embark on a new and exciting path, his supportive family at his side through thick and thin, 

Cecil had been here. Alone. Naked and bleeding, in this silent room. Saying things that led Carlos to believe that he...

No. This was the part that he couldn’t believe. Josie had called it insanity, but it couldn’t have gone that far. She must have been spooked by something, and insane was a term that had lost much of it’s meaning over the years. Cecil must have just been...confused. Disoriented.

They couldn’t have done that much damage. Even as monsters, they couldn’t wish that on someone so young and full of life. Of passion. 

_‘Cecil always wanted to be the Voice.’_

A groan, small but overwhelmingly loud in the small space, caught his attention, and he waited, ready to meet that face. Carlos needed to touch, needed to help, needed to wrap this once-Cecil up in something, anything, and get him out. 

All this, to be loved? To be respected, by a family that, it sounded like, had never given him a second thought. 

No outcome was worth this. Even if Cecil had ended up rich and powerful, even if he had been given all the things he prayed for as a child, nothing would make this okay. And Carlos knew that he hadn’t seen anything, and yet, he had seen more than enough.

Damn his curiosity. But this was the man he loved, and secrets did no good, not even when it seemed like the only option. Torture seemed a likely end to his snooping here, but it wasn’t as if he knew a way out. 

Non-corporeal or not, Carlos felt a jolt travel from from his head to the soles of his feet as Cecil raised his head and looked around. Those beautiful eyes had never changed, not in shade or tone, and the scientist was momentarily lost in them, even though it seemed--as he expected--that Cecil wasn’t aware of his presence. This wasn’t something to do be done in tandem. Carlos was simply an observer. 

He thought for a moment about Cecil in the now. Would he want Carlos to see him like this? Flinching at the realization that he was certainly not welcome, he kept his eyes on the starved, wounded young man in front of him. 

It would do him no justice to look away. Someone needed to see, because no one in town was the wiser. 

This kind child didn’t deserve to be lost in history. 

Moving closer, knowing that he was invisible and wouldn’t startle Cecil, he tried to get a proper glimpse of some of his injuries, wondering who it was that caused them. As far as he knew, Station Management was anything but physical--more like a ball of energy, or, as he had sometimes heard rumor, just a large mass of tentacles. 

It was Night Vale, after all. 

But some of the wounds looked too clean. As if they had been made with a small knife, especially the ones around the boys stomach--not incredibly deep, but still oozing blood. Whatever had happened, it had been recent. 

Without warning, as those amethyst eyes were gazing into nothingness, his breathing began to increase in speed, and Carlos watched helplessly as little by little, those eyes grew bigger, and the gulps of air became more desperate. 

With a certain amount of strength gathered from somewhere in the pit of his stomach, the blonde began to move, bending his legs, and pressing himself against the wall, giving him leverage to stand. Limbs trembling, breathing elevated, eyes shut as he concentrated on the task at hand, Carlos kept his eyes open, even extending a hand to help, before realizing this was long gone. 

Only when Cecil stood up could he see the long, ominous trail of blood running down his legs, and the small amount on the floor below. 

Hypothesis abound, a cacophony of ideas in his head, trying to imagine how, trying to imagine why, why he would be wounded there--

Not Cecil, not Cecil, please, I’ll do anything, not him, not Cecil

Realizing he had begun repeating his mantra over and over in his head, he watched, mind spinning, as the boy made his way to the door,

and began banging his head against it almost immediately. 

Carlos remembered in school, how he and other classmates would often bang their heads on the desk out of pure boredom. 

This wasn’t the same thing. 

The force with which Cecil was ramming into the wall was almost impressive for his current state and stature, if it weren’t so disturbing to watch. Accompanied by savage sounding grunts, Carlos wanted to look away now, didn’t want to watch the drops starting to make contact with the pure white floor. 

The grunts started fading into sobs, as the energy started to run out. It must hurt, Carlos thought, but whatever it was making him do it, hurt far worse. 

Who had dared to lay a hand on him?

Carlos, usually a pacifist, held onto hope that he was still alive. 

“Please,” the blonde said quietly, and Carlos realized that he had stopped his attempt--though, the breathing was now quick with falling tears, as Cecil kept his head against the door, hands on either side, clawing at steel. 

“Please, make it stop,” he cried, lungs powerful. “It’s too much, it’s too much, it’s too much,” he repeated, and Carlos had needs, too many, needed to reach out, and make this stop. 

Against his better scientific reasoning, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

“Please, stop this,” he whispered, inches away from Cecil, and yet separated by so many years. It was sick torment, not job training. It was even beyond Night Vale’s allowed strangeness. 

Pure evil. 

The piercing scream seemed to slice at his skin, and the boy gripped his head, pulling at those soft, bloodstained locks, and crouching before the door, forehead pressed against the ground. It was screaming as if he were being set ablaze, and Carlos felt something within himself snap. Break. 

This was all wrong. 

“Please,” Cecil sobbed, the type of crying young children did when they couldn’t be consoled. “I can’t do it, I can’t, I can FEEL everyone, I can feel everything too much, and everything is too loud,” the words were rushed and barely intelligible, but Carlos was following too closely. “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, please make them stop, please let me go, I’ll go away, I’ll leave the town, I’ll never come back, please,” 

Carlos felt his heart stop. Cecil loved Night Vale. But he would rather be alone. 

Of course. It only made sense, to escape whatever was happening in his head. This was what Josie meant, when she talked about having psychic abilities forced on something. 

“Why are they hurting me?” 

The question came as a surprise, and Carlos ducked down, starting to reach a hand out, but jerking it back, as if afraid touching Cecil would reset everything. 

“Why did Earl cut me,” he cried, voice high pitched, a plead. 

Earl? Earl Harlan? 

“Why did Teddy beat me, why did he call me a thief?” The words were childlike now, questioning with some bit of wonder and broken trust. 

There was an answer. 

It was a voice that came to Carlos, and to this Cecil--perhaps Carlos was simply allowed to understand, given that he was somehow within a part of Cecil as a person. They were words, and they weren’t words. It was a voice, and it was anything but a voice. As if ideas were simply being conveyed mentally, all at once. It was disorienting, and a bit painful to have his mind altered somehow, even for a brief moment, even for just a few statements. 

But, oh, he wasn’t ready to cope. Not just with the strange method of delivery, but with the fact that Station Management was more cruel than he could have imagined. 

The way the words washed over him, reminded him of the way an automated recording sounded. 

Cheery, friendly, and entirely fake. 

_You will be quiet._

_You are not progressing quickly enough. The more you struggle, the more we will interfere._

_You are to become the Voice of Night Vale. Such is the highest honor. You will treat it as such._

_Even if your mind melts away before we may hear your true voice, and runs out of your ears, eyes, and nose, you will die with a smile on your face._

_You will feel the citizens joy and pain. Such is an honor._

_You will hear their thoughts mix with your own. You will hear our thoughts mix with your own. And you will glimpse the future. It is a rare ability. Such is an honor._

_We will break you until your body will cease to fight. At that time, your abilities will heighten, and you will have no choice but to accept them fully._

_This is why we will continue to do as we have, until you surrender._

_Please remember, your body is inconsequential. It is possible that permanent damage may occur._

_As long as your vocal chords function, you will be considered a success. Therefore, do not worry._

_Your future is as the Voice. There is no other path. You will not escape. It is possible that your psychic abilities will never progress to a plateau of comfort. These excruciating symptoms may persist._

_If this is the case, please, do not let the Listeners hear your discomfort. You are expected to be the face of the community. Tarnishing it with your decreased mental capability and outbursts will not be tolerated._

_Punishment for this will include re-education. You will return to this room, until you can learn to function at a reasonable level of sanity and stability._

_We will continue to introduce members of the community to you. They will be under our control, and have been told that you are either a threat, or something for them to toy with. For us, it is very easy to bring out the worst sides of human beings._

_After your meetings end, the citizens will forget of their crimes against you. And when you are released and ready to represent this fine desert community, you will show them nothing but honor and kindness. If you remind them of their crimes, you will be punished._

_You are an extension of us. Remember this._

_Please, make yourself comfortable. Mental exercises will continue after your next punishment, when you are at your most weak, physically._

_Many thanks,_

_Station Management_

 

There were no words. 

It was a dream. Not a vision, a dream. It had to be, because this couldn’t have happened to Cecil, his Cecil. 

Beautiful Cecil. Strong, Cecil, so strong. 

The door opened. Carlos barely gave it a thought, but when he looked up, he saw a face he didn’t expect. 

‘Steve Carlsburg…?’ He was younger, much less round, Cecils age. And his eyes were empty. 

But Cecil reacted, with a speed Carlos didn’t think him capable of. It struck him that Station Managements words were probably a repeat to him, like a tape stuck on a recorder. 

It was hell. 

Cecil was against the back wall before sense could be made of the situation--though, Carlos became aware of the sound of a belt being unbuckled. 

No. 

“Please,” Cecil screamed, shaking his head, looking ready to bolt, but the door was already closed again, and Steve was advancing. Same hollow look in his eyes, accompanied by a smile that would haunt the scientists dreams if he ever woke up. 

“Please, don’t, I can’t, I can’t do it again,” broken cries falling on deaf ears. 

“I’ve wanted to do this since freshmen year. And the smiling Gods have given me this chance.” Steves voice was deep and driven, and Carlos looked away, shaking his head, willing this to end, willing to get back to Cecil, the Cecil in the now, so incredibly strong…

“I can’t,” Cecil whimpered, body shaking so hard Carlos swore he could hear it, feel it in the air, the terror so palpable even in a memory, that the scientist had to try not to be smothered by it. 

“You rejected me. And that isn’t going to happen again.” He laughed, though it was humorless, more of a ploy to make Cecil uneasy. “You were so good the first time. I hope you scream as much. I love your voice.” Reaching out, he aimed for Cecils neck, thin and soft, Carlos’s favorite spot to kiss and bite--and grabbed it roughly, slamming him back against the wall. 

“The rest of the town will love your voice too,” he whispered, licking his lips, and forcing them against Cecils, rough and with no intent to please. Cecil tried to get away, but Carlos could see Steve tighten his grip. "I've always loved you. I just have to show it, you see? I finally get to show it." He glanced down, over the blondes body. "Someone hurt you, real bad. Don't worry, I'll make it feel all better." The chestnut-brown haired man stepped forward, reaching a hand down, running his hand over Cecil's manhood, and the blonde closed his eyes, whimpers falling from his lips, not wanting to feel anything. 

“Get on the bed,” he growled, as he pulled away, throwing Cecil towards the cot, frowning as the blonde coughed, 

but he did as he was told. And Carlos knew that he was crying. He couldn’t feel the tears, but somehow, he knew. Wherever his body was, he was crying. Because nothing prepared him for this knowledge, and it was something he would have to keep in check. 

He couldn't stay logical in the fact of horrors.

Cecil was crying too. His face was turned towards the scientist, and Carlos held onto hope that he was, somehow, impossibly, a comfort. Walking over to the bed on somehow unsteady legs, he tried to reach out a hand to stroke that silky blonde hair, to whisper, “It’s okay, someday, you’ll be safe with me. It’ll be all over. I’m right here.” 

The words didn’t come. He saw, out of the cover of his eye, Steve getting undressed--but he had no reason to look. Kneeling beside the bed, face an inch or two away from Cecils, he caught the moment that the Voices nose began to bleed. Too much, dark crimson, all at once, dripping down his face onto the gray blanket. There was a wince and a whine, and he spoke in that beautiful voice. “It hurts, my head, make it…” Carlos knew how that sentence ended, but he couldn’t imagine how intense the psychic ‘lessons’ were to make Cecils nose bleed, to find bashing his own head in a better option--and Carlos could see the bruises and bumps that had already formed on Cecil's forehead, a miracle it wasn't bleeding. How would it feel to agree to...

Be assaulted. It was better than fighting, maybe. 

Why was this torture allowed? How had other citizens been so blind? 

And what was Station Management? 

He would remember these questions. He remembered everything in a very organized spot in his obsessive compulsive mind.

Steve climbed onto the bed, straddling Cecil, lean tan legs on either side, gazing down with the same glazed over expression, as if he were being remote controlled. His hands ran over the blondes back, and those usually gentle, now warped purple eyes shut. 

Carlos didn’t look. 

There was a sound of spitting, and a pained gasp from his love, his Cecil, precious and quirky and strange. Closing his own eyes, he found it didn’t help--but either way, he leaned his face towards Cecil’s , trying to brush their noses together. 

“I’m here,” he said, voice thick. 

Please let him hear…

He heard the bed move, ease up. Heard it give, the creak, telltale. Heard the word ‘no’ falling from Cecils lips. Heard the initial scream, and then that scream muffled, the blonde biting on the blanket to keep himself from being too loud. The utterances came Oover and over, each sounding more desperate than the last. 

He heard the rhythm. The grunts. Heard Steve increase his speed every time Cecil would sob, the sounds almost worse when not outright. As if Cecil were trying to be strong, in the crossfire of so much at once, intent on making him a good dog. 

He heard Steve speak, and wanted more than anything to rip his throat out. "Good boy. Scream. I'll make it feel good. You're damn pretty, you know that? Cecil. My Cecil."

‘Kill me.’ 

And Carlos kept his face where it was, ran his fingers through Cecils hair, cupped his face, though none of it seemed to matter. He couldn't truly feel it against his fingers, he couldn't feel the heat rising off the others body. A body that was far too thin for this treatment, looking like he was barely surviving without this violence. 

Maybe it did matter. Maybe he played some part in Cecil being strong, in some time slip. 

"God, you feel good. I'll make you like it too, just hold on," the man cooed, sickening, the rhythm increasing in speed, the mans hands gripping Cecils hips, pulling him back. And the blonde was limp, his fight having no choice but to tend where it was mostly needed. The physical abuse, he could seem to handle somehow. The mental onslaught was continuing, and Carlos felt like he would vomit, watching anyone touch Cecil with anything but respect, and love, and gentleness.

Cecil belonged to no one. But Carlos hoped that he would always belong to Cecil.

“I’m right here, baby,” Carlos whispered, hands curling into fists. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be okay. You're," his voice cracked, and he tried to cover it up, as if needing to be strong, when he knew he was anything but, "You're going to make it." 

Was Cecil okay? 

Had he ever been okay? 

Steve was clawing at Cecil’s back. Cecil was screaming, had stopped gnawing on the fabric, red running from his nose, pearls from his eyes, as his long fingers gripped the soiled, flimsy blanket, perhaps his only source of any warmth or comfort for four years. As this man raped him. This man whom he now saw often, teased, but could not escape from. The others, who knew how many other citizens, had hurt him, cut him, given him these bruises, and now he greeted them with nothing but kindness and purity.

And a gun to his head. Their gun pressed against him, at all times, in the form of writing tentacles.

Carlos broke. 

The world fell away. 

And wherever he was now, he knew he was going to be sick.


End file.
